


Good Things Fall Apart

by ThatOneGaySlytherin



Series: Good Things Fall Apart [1]
Category: Love Victor (TV 2020), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: (and by that i mean death of someone who isnt really a character lol), Angst, Apologies, Benji may or may not have a crush on Mothman idk!!, Blood and Injury, But it will take some time to get there, Carnival, Coming Out, Day At The Beach, Eventual Happy Ending, Gun Violence, High School, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Speculative Element, Not Really Character Death, Probably that's sort of my jam lol, Purple Prose, Redemption, Religion, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Will there be OCs?, conversion therapy, much more discussion of cryptids than initially planned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 152,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneGaySlytherin/pseuds/ThatOneGaySlytherin
Summary: Victor Salazar, ex-family fixer, has just become the nucleus of a family ripping apart at the seams. Victor struggles to navigate precarious friendships, complex budding feelings, and a divine disapproval that he feels haunts him with every step. What happens when he learns the good things--the best things--are destined to fall apart? And is there a way to defy fate, stitch back together the jagged pieces of his life, and learn to love the new self unfolding from his back like fractured wings?
Relationships: Benjamin "Benji" Campbell/Victor Salazar, Bram Greenfeld/Simon Spier, Lake Meriwether/Felix Weston (background), Mia Brooks/Andrew Spencer (background), Victor Salazar & Simon Spier
Series: Good Things Fall Apart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016943
Comments: 499
Kudos: 472





	1. Shambolic

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to give myself a break from obsessing over my original work to dive into this world a little bit!! This show made me...Feel Things...on a very personal level. SO I'm going to attempt to work through those feelings or whatever in writing. I also really want to practice letting characters drive the story instead of plot.
> 
> (Also, hi to anybody who is not familiar with my fic. I love to overshare and ramble about my personal life, apologies in advance).
> 
> All of that being said, please feel free to let me know what you think is working, what isn't, etc., or please just scream with me in the comments because I simply need to scream about Victor Salazar and how much he deserves a hug. Enjoy!
> 
> [Title based on Good Things Fall Apart by Illenium & John Bellion]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHAMBOLIC; _adj_. — chaotic; messy or confused

The words hang in the room like dark clouds, electricity crackling in their gray folds. A concoction of emotions courses through him, a punch of terror, a puff of relief, all of it underlined by anxiety, thick and heavy, pulling at his nerves.

Victor’s stomach turns over when he sees his parents’ expressions; his confession echoes around the room. They’d already been upset—maybe it wasn’t a good time, but if the world is ending as the Salazar family always knew it, Victor couldn’t live with himself if the secret stayed buried. The weight on his shoulders slips away, replaced by an odd, hollow pit. Still, he finds himself fighting a smile. The words were so foreign in his mouth, even though they’ve been ricocheting around his head since they came to Atlanta, since _Texas_. He’d actually said it, out loud.

“I’m gay.”

“Victor,” his father says, head in his hands.

His mother’s lips are pursed, eyes brimming with shock, with fear. “I—I don’t understand,” she says and fidgets on the couch.

Pilar looks scared, her breath held. She stares up at Victor, concerned, sympathetic, still angry.

“What about Mia? She’s… I don’t understand,” his mother repeats, light glinting against the tears welling up in her lids.

Victor shakes his head and looks down. “That’s…it’s complicated. I thought I liked her—I mean, I _do_ like her, just not like that.”

“What is this about?” Dad says. His face is going through some kind of rapid transformation, juggling confusion, incredulous anger, despair. It makes Victor feel like the world is caving in. “Is this because of what your mother and I just told you?”

Victor narrows his eyes. “Are you kidding?” he says as Pilar scoffs and glares at their father. “You think I’m making this up?”

“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about. Those boys, the ones who came to the party, they’ve put these—these _ideas_ in your head.” The pitch and volume of his voice are on a sure incline; Mom lays a tentative hand on his knee.

“Mando, breathe,” she says, then looks back to Victor. “This…was a bad time to tell us this, _mi amor_ ,” she says. The words sting, almost as much as the guilt in her voice.

Victor shrugs, furious, and does a half turn toward his room. He’s crying now, tears dripping from his chin and onto his suit. “I was sick of hiding,” he says, more choked whisper than anything. Victor brings his hand to his face and swipes at tears with his knuckles, but they won’t stop coming. A reservoir has opened, long sealed shut, furious water racing through and out.

To his surprise, Pilar jumps out of her seat and crosses the room. She grabs his arm and pulls him down the hallway. Their mother calls after them, “Wait!” but Victor doesn’t even look to acknowledge the sound. Quick footsteps, door slam; before he knows it he’s on his bed, sobbing into Pilar’s shoulder. His whole body trembles as it all breaks, poison siphoned from the wound. Pilar remains silent, rubs circles on Victor’s back.

 _Stupid, stupid mistake_. He berates himself internally, over and over, until he can’t take it anymore. He takes a tear-soaked fist and pounds it against his chest. Pilar gasps and grabs his arm.

“Victor, stop that,” she says, and the fact that she’s also crying is enough to force him back into his body, back to the reality of the situation.

Victor hiccups and gives her a concerned look, to which she responds with a watery laugh. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll be fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

Remorse washes over him, a high tide of regret. He’s not the only one hurting, after all, not after the bombshell news they’ve just received.

“What’s going to happen?” Victor asks with a sniffle.

Pilar looks to the door, then down at the chipped nail polish on her fingers. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think I’m a horrible person?” he says, and with the question emerges another bout of tears.

Pilar scoots closer. “Victor, stop. Listen. You really screwed up, we can’t ignore that. But it doesn’t make you a bad person. People make big mistakes when they’re scared. I…think I understand what’s going on.”

She’s blurry through tears; Victor ducks his chin.

“You were afraid to tell Mia, right? Or you weren’t ready, and you didn’t want to hurt her. I get that. But just because you’re…just because you’re gay doesn’t mean what you did is okay. It’s still cheating.”

Another sob hits him. He pictures his parents sitting on the couch, another argument, this time born out of his own fucked up choices, he thinks of Mia alone in that enormous house, swallowed by betrayal and sadness, thinks of Benji, none the wiser.

“You’re not a bad person,” Pilar repeats. “But you do have to apologize, try to make it right. And you will have to face Mom and Dad eventually.”

“I don’t know if I can. You saw the way they reacted.”

Pilar sighs and moves to the edge of the mattress. “I understand that you didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore, but you have to admit the timing wasn’t great. They probably just need some time to get used to it. But Victor, they love you so much,” she says, and there’s something in her voice: resignation, envy. She wrings her hands in her lap and ignores her phone, vibrating next to her on the comforter.

Simon’s advice replays in Victor’s head, his assurance that life is more than what happens behind closed doors, so much better than the juvenile drama, the daily war of high school hallways. But what if Victor never makes it beyond any of that? What if he’s finally broken things beyond repair?

“We’re going to figure it out,” Pilar says. Victor forces a smile, nausea bubbling his his gut when a tear falls past his lips and into his mouth, staining taste buds salty. He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken to Pilar for longer than five minutes, let alone about something this serious. And they haven’t seen each other cry— _really_ cry—for years.

“Thank you,” he says.

Pilar stands and smooths down her dress. “For the record, I’m proud of you. And I love you. But if you tell anybody at school that I said that, I’ll have to kill you.”

Victor laughs and the rope around his lungs unwinds, if only a bit, enough that he feels he can breathe again. “Love you too.”

Pilar moves to the door and presses an ear against it.

“Are they still out there?”

“I can’t tell. If they are, they’re not talking.” She wraps a hand around the doorknob and slowly pulls the door open, peeking her head out. “They must have gone to bed. You should do the same,” she says, craning over her shoulder. “Things will feel better after a night of sleep.”

Victor rather likes this version of Pilar, his caring, careful sister beneath the caustic shell. “Thanks, I’ll try.”

And with that she’s gone, quietly pushing the door shut behind her.

The urge to cry wells up in his throat again but he swallows it down, tired of tears. He removes his suit jacket, then curls his knees up to his chest and collapses onto his side. In his pocket, his phone vibrates once, twice, keeps going. Someone’s calling him. When he checks and sees it’s an unknown number, he declines the call, slamming his phone down on his bedside table.

Then, his walkie talkie spurts to life and Felix’s voice emits through the static. “Felix to Victor, over.”

Victor heaves a sigh, his mouth still salty, throat sore from crying. Still, he props himself up and reaches for the device. He presses the button. “Hey,” he says, voice wobbling.

There’s a pause. “Whoah, buddy, you good?”

“Not really, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Right, no, of course,” Felix says quickly. “I just, uh. You sort of disappeared tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor whispers. Just another person he’s hurt, another crack in the flimsy foundation he’s built here. It’s all crumbling around him and there’s nothing he can do about it. “Can we talk tomorrow? I think I need to be alone right now.”

“Sure. Victor, whatever it is, I’m here for you, okay?”

“Thanks, Felix,” he breathes, and the line goes quiet. The walkie talkie rolls out of his hand and he rests his head on his knees. How could everything have hit a wall like this, all at once?

Before he can stop himself, he retrieves his phone and sends a message with quaking fingers.

 **_Victor:_ ** _I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. Please let me explain. Let me apologize. I’ll understand if you hate me forever, but I can’t stand the thought of never apologizing. [11:46 PM]_ **_  
_ **

Send. His heart skips at least three beats. His ribcage is a blender, whirling his heart around, shredding it to ribbons. It occurs to him that maybe he doesn’t have to do this alone. Simon had called Victor “one of us,” he’d said they were family. And family is always there for you, aren’t they? Victor is less and less sure of that; regardless, he types out another message, his screen hard to see through tears. They squeeze out the corners of his eyes, wetting his cheeks, shining in the glow of the device.

**_Simon,_ **

**_I think I really fucked up. So much has happened since my last message, but long story short, Benji broke up with his boyfriend for me. I didn’t ask him to, he said he realized that he wasn’t happy with him. But we kissed, and it was like magic, but Mia saw it happen and now she probably hates me, and I freaked out and came out to my parents after they told me they’re separating and I think they might hate me too. I’m sorry this is all so much, but I don’t know who else to tell. Nobody else understands. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt this alone._ **

The whoosh of the message sending is a minuscule comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Victor falls backward, head bouncing on his pillow, and drills his eyes into the ceiling. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to sleep after all of this, knowing his parents are down the hall talking about him, about how to clean up this mess he’s wrought. The good news is: he’s all cried out. He’s sure his eyes are basically glowing red, puffy as anything. His chest hurts, his stomach twists, like some horrible depression flu has overtaken his immune system.

His phone buzzes next to him and his heart drops when he sees a message from Mia.

 **_Mia:_ ** _Tomorrow. You’ll know where to find me. [12:03 AM]_ **_  
_ **

Honestly, it’s more civil than Victor was expecting, more than what he deserves. What does she mean, though? _You’ll know where to find me._ Victor starts to mull it over, hopes he doesn’t guess wrong, but it’s only minutes before his eyelids are closing; his body—still clothed—decides it’s had enough for one day and sinks into sleep, his light still on, blanketed by the ceiling of his life that’s caved in on him.


	2. Trine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRINE; _adj_. — threefold; triple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the response to that first chapter has been pretty insane already?! I guess that's the result of writing for a brand new fandom coming off a nasty cliffhanger, lol. Still, it's really motivating to see so many people reading, leaving kudos, commenting, etc., so thanks to all of you and enjoy! I will be attempting to update this weekly, but I've said that before and it often falls through so we'll see how it goes. But this chapter was really just begging to be put on the page, so I decided to go for it :)

Light cuts through the curtains and burns bright in Victor’s eyes. He wakes with a start, the whispers of a dream still echoing in his mind. He’d been falling, sinking, everything pressing in. Sweat pools in his collarbones and his hair is damp. Victor collapses back into his pillow, the collar of his dress shirt cool against the back of his neck. He hasn’t had such a physical response to a dream in years, not since he was a little kid. Even his pillowcase is dark with moisture.

With a small groan from the back of his throat, Victor pushes himself out of bed and peels yesterday’s clothes off. He never wants to see this damn suit again.

_What time is it?_

He picks up his phone, low on battery—he’d forgotten to charge it last night—and sighs at the numbers. 8:15. While he would much prefer to shower and crawl back into bed, spend his whole weekend consumed by sheets, he knows there’s a conversation that needs to be had. Multiple conversations.

His heart jumps when he sees there’s a text from Benji.

**_Benji_** _: Hope you sleep well. Can’t wait to talk tomorrow. :) [2:32 AM]_

Victor wants to smile but something in his chest is still tightly wound, pulling down. He can’t untangle the emotions, the bright soaring joy when they kissed, the frozen pierce of guilt and regret that followed in Mia’s eyes.

Mia. Right.

He hadn’t had the energy to respond last night, but he needs a few more details if this conversation is actually going to happen.

**_Victor_** _: What time? [8:17 AM]_

It’s not likely she’s even awake yet, so Victor plugs in his phone and goes to shower. There’s no way he’ll be able to find rest at this point, anyway. He’s wide awake, mind racing. In the bathroom he stares at himself in the mirror, the strands of hair matted to his forehead. Does he recognize himself? This person existing in some kind of limbo, suddenly straddling happiness and fear? Things had somehow seemed simpler when uncertainty was all there was, when a kiss with one person only made him crave the touch of another, when a label fluttered before his eyes but never affixed to his skin. Now, the future is barreling towards him like an avalanche but he’s stuck, up to his waist in a snow drift.

Victor turns up the shower as hot as it goes and forces himself in, the steam clouding his vision, scalding water prickling his skin to attention. His own body feels foreign like someone has taken over and all he can do is sit idly by as his life is lived out in front of him.

He eventually forces himself to actually bathe, scrubbing too hard, trying to keep what’s good but buff out the shame. What he finds is that it’s all sort of interconnected, and ultimately he can’t rid himself of either.

The towels have just been washed, white and fluffy, a trivial luxury but a comfort regardless. Victor wraps himself tightly, hair dripping in front of his eyes, and looks in the mirror again. The slight red glow of his skin feels justified; this is what he deserves for what he’s done.

Back in his room, Victor is surprised to find a response from Mia.

**_Mia_** _: 10. See you then. [8:31 AM]_

Not horrible. It’ll be out of the way at the very least, and then he’ll have the rest of the day to…clean up different messes. Victor gets dressed, forces his legs into jeans, drags a gray shirt over his head. He even brushes his hair for good measure, if anything just to indicate that he cares, that he’s taking this seriously.

And then he sits. And he waits.

* * *

Even though spring has bloomed in Atlanta, the morning is cool as Victor hurries down the sidewalk; he almost wishes he’d brought a sweatshirt. His heart rate is galloping, partly from his pace, partly because he’s practically holding his breath as he power walks. The destination is further than he remembered, but last time he was there, the trip had been with Mia, full of dumb jokes and laughter and fingers brushing.

Victor stops dead when he turns a corner and sees that she’s already there, bundled up in a purple hoodie, perched on the curb. At least he’d been right. The art gallery is closed this early on a Saturday, but through the windows he can see sculptures, different than the grisly ones they’d suffered through on their first date. The sun is bright, bleeds in through the windows, casting bizarre shadows.

Mia looks up when she seems him coming. Victor’s lips quirk into an anxious smile. She doesn’t smile back, just stands and pulls her sleeves over her hands.

“Hey,” he says and stops a few feet from her. Space is probably the name of the game here.

“Hi, Victor,” she says. It makes his stomach hurt to see bags under her eyes; it looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

Victor wagers one more step forward. “Should…should we sit?”

Mia shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” She returns to her place on the curb and crosses her legs. Victor lowers himself down next to her, still granting her a wide berth.

“I don’t really know where to start,” Victor says, his voice breathy. The words vibrate in the air. He’s gone over it a thousand times in his head, but never has he figured out what to say first, how to lead in to everything. “I mean, I’m sorry. That’s where I should start, obviously.”

Mia gives a sort of depreciating laugh. Her eyes are locked on the pavement; she has a small rock in her hands and drags it across the concrete beside her, scraping a sketch into the surface.

“I was going to tell you.”

“But you didn’t. And you tried to lie your way out of it. Andrew really didn’t say anything, you know.”

Victor sighs and covers his face with his hands. “I know. _I know_. I really messed up, Mia. I know that. And I can’t even imagine how you feel right now.”

“I feel like shit, Victor. I—” but she stops, shakes her head, waves her hands once in front of her to indicate that she can’t even go there.

“It’s just…” he says, licking his lips and forcing oxygen into his lungs. “There was already so much going on, and I really wanted to at least give you a night to get away from everything. I was going to tell you _today_ , Mia. Well, I was going to tell you before the dance, when we made that sushi, but then—”

“But then my dad dropped two huge bombs on me,” Mia says, her voice like gravel.

Victor nods. It’s a risk, but he scoots slightly closer. “Exactly. I never wanted to hurt you, but it just kept going wrong. It never seemed like a good time.”

“There isn’t any one _good time_ for that, Victor. For the truth. And to find out the way I did…”

Her eyes are vacant, distant. Victor doesn’t know what to say.

“It was all a lie.”

“Mia, no,” he says. He reaches out and touches her shoulder; she flinches away. “I care about you. I really do. I meant it when I said you’re my favorite person. I’ve just been going through a lot, and I know that’s not a good excuse, but you need to know that when this started, I really thought it was going to work out with us.” Even as he says it, he wonders how true it is. The moment he saw Benji he felt this _pull_ , this uncanny desire. Had Mia been a distraction from that, just a way to fill the black hole that resulted from Benji’s gravity?

“Was that the first time it happened?” she asks. She finally turns to Victor, expression fierce and tears dazzling in her eyes. “Have you kissed him before? Or anybody else?”

“I’ve never kissed anybody else,” Victor says quickly, then realizes he’s sort of answered both questions.

Mia’s anger subsides some; realization moves in to join it. “That trip,” she says, looking back to the pavement. “When you bailed on me to get that stupid coffee machine fixed.”

“Mia,” he says, pleading, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

“I’ve heard enough. I can’t _believe_ this.”

“I didn’t plan it. You have to believe me, it just sort of happened.”

She looks at him, skeptical. “So _he_ kissed _you_?”

“Well, no, but—”

She stands, taking in a big breath through her nose as a tear makes a dark circle on the sidewalk. “Oh my god,” she whispers and shakes out her hands as she walks in circles. “I trusted you, Victor.”

Victor also stands. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and grabs Mia’s shoulders. “I know,” he says firmly, looking into her eyes. “And I took advantage of that. I really hate myself for what I did, and I’m going to make it up to you somehow, I _promise_.”

She shakes her head and pushes his arms away. “I don’t know if you can.”

“I’m gonna try anyway.”

Mia pauses and looks up at the sky, at an eavesdropping cloud. “So. You’re gay.”

Victor glances around, making sure they’re really alone. “Yeah, I am.”

“Does he make you happy? Benji?” Her eyes are still upward.

Victor sighs. “I mean, I guess so. I don’t know what to feel right now. My parents didn’t really take the news too well, and—”

She looks at him. “You told them?”

“Last night. It’s sort of been a rough twenty four hours for me,” he says, not to gain her sympathy, her pity, but because he’s done enough lying—enough hiding things—for a whole lifetime.

She chews on her lip and gives him a single nod. “I hope they come around,” she says.

“Thanks,” he breathes. “So…what now?”

“What do you mean?”

His insides twist. “I mean, I know I really fucked things up, but I don’t want to lose you.”

Mia laughs again, a sardonic, self-deprecating sort of chuckle that makes his fingertips tingle. “Victor, I don’t…I don’t know if I can do that to myself. Not after what you did. I understand the position you were in, but that doesn’t change the fact that you _cheated_ on me. Twice. This was the first real relationship I’ve ever been in, and I spent half of it wondering if I was going crazy, thinking I wasn’t good enough. Do you know what that’s like?”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline and she tilts her head. “Interesting question, Victor.”

Right, that’s stupid considering what he’d been hiding. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“My point is, I don’t know…” she pauses and wipes a hand over her face. “I don’t know if I can be around you right now.”

A chill goes through him and he can feel tears coming again; he tries to swallow them down. It’s fair enough, but it still stings.

“Okay,” he says and nods fervently. “Okay,” he repeats.

“Maybe eventually. I don’t know. I think I just need time.”

“Okay,” he says for a third time.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me while we’re here?” she asks.

Victor shakes his head. “No, Mia. No. Just—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mia nods, resigned. “Me, too.” She grants him a final look, one Victor can’t quite interpret. “Goodbye, Victor,” she says, more carefully than she had the night before, but with just as much pain laced in.

“Bye,” he says; the word gets caught in his throat, comes out like a croak.

And Mia is gone, shuffling down the sidewalk. She doesn’t look back.

Victor wants to chase after her, somehow convince her not to go, but he knows that would only make things worse. It feels like the birds in the trees are mocking him, their cheerful songs so out of place with the orchestra of guilt that’s reached a crescendo in his ears. He realizes his legs are shaking and he sits back down—too hard; pain shoots up his back as he hits the concrete—and hastily swipes at a tear creeping out the corner of his eye.

Next to him, etched into the sidewalk, is a sketch of a stoplight, the center bulb illuminated with faint lines coming off it. Yellow.

Fighting another bout of tears, Victor pulls out his phone.

**_Victor_** _: Hey. Are you awake? [10:26 AM]_

He goes to put it back in his pocket, but it vibrates in his palm.

**_Benji_** _: Yeah! Everything good? [10:26 AM]_

**_Victor_** _: I know I said I would call you, but do you think you could come pick me up instead? [10:27 AM]_

**_Benji_** _: Where are you? I’ll be there. [10:27 AM]_

Victor smiles even as a droplet lands on his phone screen. Benji’s on his way.

* * *

Victor’s eyes are dry by the time he gets in Benji’s car, his whole body on fire at the sight of him. Benji had pulled up to the curb and jumped out of the car, wrapping Victor in his arms before saying anything. It had felt right, like coming home after a long trip. Benji’s hair was wet, aromatic, fresh out of the shower. Victor entered the car silently, and when Benji asked what was going on, Victor asked him to drive somewhere else first.

Now, they sit outside Brasstown, Victor’s hands trembling in his lap.

“Victor?”

His eyes had been trained on the Brasstown sign, his mind running through everything that’s happened here. Whipping around, he’s surprised to see Benji so concerned.

“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile. “I just have a lot going on.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Victor inhales, holds it for a second, then sighs. “I don’t want to dump all of my personal shit on you. This conversation was supposed to be about _us_.”

“If there’s going to be any kind of _us_ , we need to communicate with each other,” Benji says, soft smile like a miracle. “And I want to help however I can.”

“Okay,” Victor says, his nerves unraveling for the first time in almost a day. “So. I came out to my parents last night.”

Benji’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, you did? And how did it go?” Victor can see the gears turning behind Benji’s eyes, watches as he thinks back to the party, to Victor standing up for him and Derek.

“Not well,” Victor says with a dry laugh. He scratches the back of his head. “We haven’t really talked about it yet. I sort of…broke down and locked myself in my room. But it doesn’t look like it’s gonna be good,” he admits. Why can’t he look Benji in the eye? “I’m afraid to go home.”

Benji’s hand grasps his shoulder. “Hey, come here,” he says and pulls Victor into another hug. He’s warm, certain, so real in Victor’s arms. “Whatever happens, we can figure it out, okay?” he whispers in Victor’s ear.

 _He’s worth it,_ Victor thinks as they embrace over the center console of Benji’s car, more to convince himself than anything. _Maybe it’s all worth it_.

Benji pulls away, all cautious grin and rosy cheeks. “Feel better?”

“A little,” Victor says. “There’s, um. There’s something else, though.”

Benji’s smile presses into a straight line. “What do you mean?”

“It’s Mia,” Victor says and swallows a lump in his throat. “She saw us last night.”

“Victor,” Benji groans. He turns to face the steering wheel and pushes a hand through his hair.

“That’s why I was outside the art gallery, I was apologizing to her and coming clean about everything.”

“When you say ‘everything,’ do you mean…?”

“I told her about the motel too, yeah. She didn’t take any of it well. Not that she should after what I did, but I’m still…” He trails off, not sure how to begin describing his emotional state. “Everything’s going wrong, Benji.”

Benji nods, looking grim.

“I just…I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to do this. Us.”

“Whoah, Victor. What do you mean?”

Victor can feel tears coming again, which only frustrates him, which makes him want to cry more. He tries to push it all down. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Everything just feels…broken. And I don’t want to break you, too.”

Benji takes a shaky breath. “Okay, listen,” he says gently, “we can take it slow, all right? If you need a little bit of time to get into a better headspace, I’m willing to wait. I…After everything that’s happened, if I lose you, it’s all for nothing, right? But if we get to be together in the end…”

Victor reaches out and grabs his hand. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t want to throw that away.”

Relief floods across Benji’s face.

“Just…let me handle my family first,” Victor says, shifting forward. “Pilar is still mad at me, but she was there for me last night when I lost it, so I think it won’t take long to make it up to her.” He’s aware that he’s talking too fast but the words just keep coming, like if he says it out loud it’s all out of his head. “My parents are a different story, and I don’t know how they really feel about it but maybe they were just caught off guard, and they were already so upset—”

“Breathe,” Benji says, reaching out to stroke Victor’s cheek. “Take a deep breath. Why were they upset? Did something happen?”

“They’re…” Right. That’s another thing. “I came out right after they told Pilar and me that they’re separating.”

Benji pulls his hand away. “Oh, shit. Victor,” he says, his eyebrows pinching together.

“I know. Now do you see why I’m so fucked up right now? It feels like I’m in this boat and every time I try to fix a hole, another one pops up on the other side. I don’t understand how I got here. I’ve never felt so…”

“Hopeless,” Benji finishes.

“Yeah,” Victor says. “This is why I didn’t want to put all of this on you. It’s too much.”

“No, I’m glad you told me. At least I know what’s going on in your head, you know? And I can try to help. I will, too. I’ll help as much as I can. I promise. I’m here for you.”

Even through the turmoil, something fresh and hopeful twitches somewhere deep inside Victor, like a chick trying to hatch from a sturdy egg.

“I don’t deserve you,” Victor says. He smooths down Benji’s hair and his lips quirk into a smile.

Benji smiles back. “I feel the same way about you.”

The kiss that follows is so different than the one in the motel room, the one on the bench. The first kiss had been a dying star, twinkling out as a last resort; the one on the bench had been a full moon, yanking Victor’s heart like the tide toward Benji’s; this kiss is the sun, golden, searing. Victor worries if it lasts too long, he’ll get burned. But he can’t pull away, even with the knowledge that someone could walk out of Brasstown and witness the whole thing, could drive by and catch a glimpse. Would they even see it? Or would they be blinded by the relief that’s issuing from Victor’s pores when he kisses Benji, the untold promise that this is what life could be, that the future, though on the horizon, is approaching, and it’s warm and it’s bright and for the first time, something has clicked into place.

Victor pulls away, his lips shiny and singing. “Are we ever gonna have a kiss that doesn’t make me feel like a different person when it’s over?”

Benji smiles at him, cups his chin, and run’s a thumb over Victor’s lips. “I hope not.”

Victor laughs and ducks his head, smooths over his hair where Benji’s hand had ruffled it during the kiss. “Me either.”

“Do you want me to take you home?” Benji asks.

It’s still scary, dropping feet first into a whole Victor can’t see the bottom of, but with this new sunlight running through his veins, he feels as capable as he could be to handle it. So he nods. Benji takes his hand and raises it to his lips, gives it a kiss, and starts his car.

“Whatever happens, I’m just a text away, okay?”

Victor smiles and squeezes his hand. “Yeah.”

* * *

The sound of the door swinging shut behind him is like a trap being triggered. His parents are on the couch, just like they’d been the night before, and his mother exhales in relief when she sees him. She rises and crosses the room in broad strides, and—to Victor’s surprise—envelops him in a tight hug.

“We were so worried,” she says, choked up. “Where have you been?” she asks as she pulls away, hands still on Victor’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, _Mamí_ ,” he says. “I had to take care of something.” His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, little pulses of darkness at the edge of his vision.

“It’s okay,” she says and lays a hand on his cheek. “Will you come sit? Your dad and I just want to talk to you.”

He nods. “Sure. Of course.” Each step toward the couch gets heavier, like his feet are made of lead. He could crash right through the floor and fall forever. Like some kind of sick deja vu, Victor sits in the same chair he had the night before, his parents’ expressions almost an exact replica.

“So, I’m sure you can imagine that we’re feeling a little…surprised,” she settles on, forcing a smile, “about what you said last night.”

“Surprised?” his father says. “Try offended.”

“Okay,” she murmurs and gestures for him to calm down.

“Are Pilar and Adrian here?” Victor asks, looking down the hallway.

“We sent them out for the day. It’s just us, _mijo_.”

Victor doesn’t want to bring his eyes back to them but forces himself to meet her gaze, all too aware of the trepidation there. So many times she’s said to Victor, “You know you can tell me anything, right?” So why does he feel like he’s made the wrong choice by admitting the truth?

“We just want to understand, that’s all,” she continues, a note of desperation in her voice. “It seemed things were going so well with Mia. Is this about her?”

“What? No, Mom, it’s not about Mia. It’s about _me_. I…this is who I am.”

“But how do you know, Victor? You’re only sixteen, there’s still so much to learn about yourself.”

Victor stares down at his hands, wishes they would stop trembling. “I didn’t just wake up yesterday and decide, you know. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. And last night was the first time I’ve ever even said the words out loud.”

There’s a pause, one during which he’s sure his mother is looking to his father for help, but his voice never comes.

“Victor, you have to understand that this is difficult for us. It seems like you’re putting yourself in this box when maybe you don’t even know if you fit there yet.”

“Really? Because it feels like _you’re_ the one trying to put me in a box,” he says, finally looking up. His mother is taken aback; his father’s disinterested frown turns into a glare. “I thought I could tell you anything,” he says, his voice breaking.

“Of course you can,” she says and shifts closer to him. “And I’m glad you did. We just want to help.”

If she really wanted to help, she could tell him that it’s okay, that she still loves him just the same, that this doesn’t change anything. _Why can’t she just say that?_

“Do you still love me?” he asks, because the suspense of that unanswered question is eating away at his insides like acid.

“Oh,” she says, tears springing to her eyes. She takes Victor’s hands. “Of course, of _course_ I do. I will never not love you, Victor. You are…” she pauses and presses her lips together, a tear cascading down her cheek. “You are so special. I don’t think you know how special you are. But you’re still so young, _mi amor_. I’m just worried that you’re confused, or maybe following some trend, I don’t know!”

Victor pulls his hands away. “Is that what you think of me?” he asks, hot, angry tears building. “I’m gay,” he says. Then he repeats it. “I’m _gay_. But I’m still me, Mom. Nothing has changed.”

She sits back and shakes her head, dabbing at her eyes with a shirt sleeve. “But everything does change, Victor, if that’s the path you’re going to go down. It’s not a life we ever envisioned for you.”

“Have you considered that your vision of my life might not look the same as mine?”

“And your vision involves going around and kissing other boys?” his father says, smacking the cushion beside him.

“Armando,” his mother warns, but his father continues.

“I thought I made it clear after you invited those friends that that is not something we want in this family. If that’s what they want to do behind closed doors, fine, but I will not have my son bring that kind of perversion into this household.”

Victor stands and points at his father. “Do you think I _chose_ this? I’m not proud of who I am, and if I could change it, I would,” he cries, lips pulled back over his teeth as something boils in his stomach, “but I can’t change it, _Papí_. It’s who I am,” he says and collapses back into the chair, face in his hands. His shoulders jerk up and down as he cries, but nobody reaches out to comfort him.

“You should have kept this to yourself,” his father says as he stands, his voice low, dangerous.

Victor tries to rein in his sobs. “I thought it would be different if you knew it was _me_ ,” he says, his throat heavy as he looks into the disapproving eyes of his father. “I’m still me,” he repeats, trying to make them understand.

“No,” his father says, rubbing a hand across his beard. “I don’t know this person.”

Victor’s mother is openly crying now, reaching for his father as he shakes his head and storms out of the room. She looks at Victor, says something that sounds like “I’m sorry,” but Victor is already running for the door, the world shattered in his vision, distorted by tears, more tears—all he seems to know is tears. He slams the door behind him and presses his back against the wall, sinks to the floor. His forehead rests between his knees, knocking against bone as he cries, unable to command his body, cease the emotional onslaught.

After a few minutes, his phone buzzes against his thigh. He fumbles it out of his pocket, using the other arm to make a poor attempt at drying his face. It’s a response from Simon.

**_Victor,_ **

**_Wow. It sounds like there’s a lot going on. First of all, I’m really sorry that everything went down that way. This is supposed to be a time when your loved ones are in your corner, and it really saddens me to hear about what’s going on with your parents. They don’t hate you, Victor, I promise. You’re still their son, and no matter how they feel right now, they’ll remember what an incredible person you are and eventually come around._ **

**_But hey, that’s good news about Benji, right? My advice: take things slow. If he’s just getting out of a relationship, that complicates things, even if it was a relationship that wasn’t going so well to begin with. From what you’ve told me, he sounds like he could be a good person to lean on during all of this. Just make sure you’re not the only one doing the leaning, okay? I know you’re already pretty overwhelmed, but you also have to be there for him, right?_ **

**_As for Mia, all I can say is that you have to apologize and be genuinely sorry. It would be irresponsible for me not to tell you that. She might not be ready to hear it just yet, and I know it’s hard to accept, but she’s justified in feeling that way. She means a lot to you, though, and if you mean the same to her, she’ll come around, too._ **

**_You’re not alone, Victor. I meant what I said in my last message. No matter what changes, you still have me. Whatever happens, I’ll be here to talk you through it. I don’t have all the answers, but I can do my best. Maybe it’s weird considering we’ve only actually met once, but you really are like a part of our family here. Things might hurt right now, but you’ll come out stronger the other side. It will all pass. I promise. Until then, don’t be too hard on yourself, and keep me updated._ **

**_Love, Simon_ **

Victor clutches his phone to his chest and heaves another sob, something between despair and reprieve. Why can’t his life be like Simon’s? Parents who don’t bat an eye, who promise him that they love him just the same, who love Simon’s boyfriend. Clearly he’s not destined for that life, not fated to have a Simon Spier Ferris wheel moment, the fireworks and the cheering and the knowledge that everything will be okay.

No, Victor doesn’t get to breach his head above the surface just yet. For now, the waves are still lapping over his head, his breath held close like a secret that never should have seen the light of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will also be happy things in this fic it won't just be 100k words of Victor stumbling around crying LOL. There will definitely be more crying, though, I can't lie about that.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, leave a comment below!! <3


	3. Sonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SONDER; _n_. — the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL YEAH, another chapter! This is starting to get into the real meat of the central conflict, and I'm really excited to see what y'all think! Your comments have been so lovely so far, so feel free to leave another one if you are so inclined. Either way, enjoy! :D

_Krrt!_ “Felix to Victor. Over.”

Victor rolls over in bed, head pounding. Dehydrated from all the crying, probably. He reaches for his walkie and pulls it to his lips.

“This is Victor. Over.”

He pauses, and then it buzzes again. “Are you prepared to accept a new mission? Over.”

Felix is doing his cheesy Transatlantic accent like he’s in a shitty movie from the 40s. Despite the boulder on his chest, Victor manages to chuckle. He props up onto his elbows. “How involved is this mission?”

Silence.

“Over,” he adds pointedly.

“Your task is quite simple,” comes Felix’s voice immediately. “I simply need somebody to accompany me to Brasstown for an afternoon of coffee consumption and general shenanigans. Over.”

Victor looks at his phone, wonders for the hundredth time why Felix can’t just text him—call him, even—and sees that it’s only 2 PM. Today has felt like an eternity, from the conversation with Mia, to talking with Benji, to…

His parents. After he’d recovered from his meltdown out in the hallway, he had carefully crept back inside, but neither of them were on the couch anymore. Hushed, frustrated voices sounded from their room, but Victor couldn’t actually make out what they were saying—nor did he want to—so he snuck into his room and stuffed a pillow over his face.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of General Shenanigans yet, but it would be an honor. Over.”

The line comes on but is silent for a second. “That was _damn_ funny, Salazar. Meet me in the hallway in five! Over and out.”

Victor psychs himself up to get out of bed; it’s never felt like such a gargantuan task. He’s still in his clothes from before but he’d sweat through his shirt during the talk with his parents, so he switches it out for a blue one and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s definitely looked better; his eyes are a little bloodshot, his lips chapped. His hair sticks up in tufts from being shoved between pillows. With the remaining three minutes he has, Victor tries to tame the dark hair and applies some lip balm. His lips smart as he rubs them together, dry and cracked. And he’ll just have to hope nobody looks at his eyes too closely.

He peeks out of his room to ensure that his parents aren’t in the living room. When he’s sure the coast is clear, Victor tiptoes to the door; he feels guilty about leaving the house without telling anybody, but he doesn’t really care about keeping his parents in the loop right now. That mode of operation isn’t exactly working out so great for him anyway.

“Hey, buddy,” Felix says as Victor closes the door behind him. “Rough morning?” he guesses.

Victor shrugs and takes a deep breath. “Guess you could say that. You?”

“Ah, you know. Same old. I have a feeling it doesn’t compare to yours, though.”

Felix slings an arm around Victor’s shoulder as they head out. The whole walk to Brasstown, Victor lays out the situation, pausing awkwardly whenever someone passes who might overhear. He tells Felix about his parents’ news, about his coming out (which explains why he wasn’t stable enough to talk to Felix the previous night), the conversation with Mia, and then how things somehow got even worse with his parents. Shockingly, Felix says nothing the whole time, just nods and hums to indicate he’s listening.

Victor finishes his update a block from the café and they both stop walking. Instead of removing his arm, Felix turns to face Victor and adds the other, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Victor hugs him back. “Thanks.”

“I don’t want to sound too stereotypical,” Felix says as he separates from Victor, “but things really will get better. It’s hard to believe that when they’re at their worst, but the only way to go is up.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, his lips quirking into a little smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Felix nods and grins back. “People tend to find out that I’m _usually_ right.”

“Oh, okay,” Victor says sarcastically as they continue walking.

Felix clears his throat. “So. Um. Things might be a bit weird today.”

Victor frowns. “Why? Did I say something that upset you?”

“What? No! Oh my gosh, no, I am completely on your side here. It’s just,” he starts to say as they enter the coffee shop.

_Oh, shit._

Lake is sitting at one of the tables, arms outstretched to take a picture of herself.

“Felix,” Victor says and squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you tell me she would be here?”

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t sure you would come if you knew, and I didn’t realize there was actual drama!”

Victor scoffs and shakes his head. “It’s fine. Maybe Mia hasn’t told her anything yet? Or maybe she won’t be mad?”

They approach the table and Lake lights up at the sight of Felix. “Oh, hi, adorable! And hello, Victor. I’m mad at you,” she says and flicks her hair back.

“Look, I can explain,” Victor says as he takes a seat next to Felix. “How much do you know?”

She lifts her chin and looks at him down her nose. “I know enough.”

Victor sighs. He’s going to have to come out to her, isn’t he? He turns to Felix. “I can trust her, right?”

Felix looks to Lake, who gives him a little frown like _of course he can trust me_.

“Uh, yeah, completely,” Felix says quickly.

“What did Mia tell you?” Victor asks, voice hushed.

Lake clears her throat and folds her hands over her crossed legs. “Just that you’ve been a bit of a floozy and she’s completely heartbroken. Like I said, I’ve heard enough. As far as I’m concerned, anybody who’s kissing other girls behind _my_ best friend’s back is cancelled, but I know Felix likes you, so—”

“Boys,” Victor says, then winces.

Lake’s mouth snaps shut. She frowns, raises a single finger, takes a long sip of coffee. “Repeat that.”

“I wasn’t kissing other _girls_ , Lake. I was kissing…boys. One boy, actually, but it happened twice.”

Her eyes widen and she takes another sip of her drink. “Wow. Um. Okay. So you’re g—”

Victor shushes her and looks around to make sure nobody is listening in. “Yes, all right? And I was going to tell Mia and end things right after the dance, but some things in her personal life made it almost impossible to tell her.”

“Ohhh, the whole Veronica deal. Totes get it,” she says and nods, her anger fleeting. “Still a little skeevy that you kissed someone behind her back, though.”

“I know,” Victor says. “I tried to apologize to her this morning. I mean, I _did_ apologize. But she said she needs some…time off.”

Lake nods, looking like she hasn’t absorbed a word he said. She leans in. “Who else knows?”

Victor blinks. “Uh. Well, Felix, you, obviously, Mia, my sister, my parents…Andrew…”

“Full stop. Andrew knows?”

“He overheard a conversation that I _thought_ was happening privately. I don’t think he’s told anybody…I hope not, at least.”

Lake nods and presses her lips together. “You know, I feel like this makes more sense for you. You’re way too sweet to be,” she covers her mouth with one hand, “ _heterosexual_.”

“Hey,” Felix says and turns his hands up. “We’re not all assholes.”

“I know, Felix, but Victor’s energy is just different. You’re sweet, but you are definitely straight.”

Felix crosses his arms and pouts, sitting back. “I could totally be gay,” he mutters to himself.

Victor laughs nervously and Lake leans in even further. “So? Who is it? This mystery boy?”

“Oh. Um,” Victor says. He drums his fingers on the table. “I guess he won’t mind if I tell you? He’s the one who’s out. It’s…Benji.”

Lake’s mouth forms an O and she sits back, her hands flailing in her lap. “No way no _way_! Oh my god that is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, hand on her chest as she lifts and drops her shoulders dramatically. “You two are such an attractive couple, too. People will be _jealous_ when they find out.”

“Which’ll probably not be anytime soon,” Victor says and looks around again. “I just…It’s all really new, and really scary, so please promise you won’t tell anybody.”

She draws her fingers across her lips and makes a throwing motion. “Your secret is on lockdown.” Then she squeals and points at the door. “Here he comes!”

Victor’s heart drops and he looks to the door, but Benji isn’t there. Then he turns the other way and sees him emerging from behind the _counter_. Victor almost stands but doesn’t want to call any attention to them.

“What are you doing here?” he asks as Benji pulls up a chair at their table.

He smiles. “Taking my break.”

“But you got transferred?”

Benji blushes and looks down at the table. “I asked if they would transfer me back.”

Victor wants to be happy, but something inside him is squirming. He grabs Benji’s arm and pulls him away so they can talk privately.

“You didn’t do this for me, did you?” Victor asks, voice low.

“No! Well, mostly. This location is much more convenient for me, and Sarah was freaking out about being understaffed anyway.”

Fair enough; Sarah’s always freaking out about _something_.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, though?” Victor asks. “I mean, now that we’re…I don’t know. Working together seems like it might be a lot.”

“Do you not want to work with me?”

Victor’s eyes go wide. “No, that’s not what I meant! I like working with you, Benji, a _lot_. I just worry that it might…be obvious to people what’s going on.”

Benji nods and rubs his face. “Okay, I get that. How about this? When we’re on the clock together, we’re just coworkers. Not even friends, because just friends so often turn into something else. But as long as we’re both working, we can just be cordial and casual and nobody will realize anything’s up.”

Victor exhales a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“You sure? It’s probably not too late to ask for another transfer.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m sorry.”

Benji chuckles. “You’ve gotta stop apologizing. You’re a little paranoid about people finding out, and I completely get that. I promise I won’t _ever_ pressure you to go public with this, even if it does get more serious.”

Victor’s cheeks heat up at the prospect of things getting more serious, but he ducks his head in a nod. “Okay.” He fights the urge to say “I’m sorry” again and Benji pats his shoulder.

“Can we sit? I only have ten more minutes.”

They rejoin Felix and Lake and Victor’s stomach drops out of his ass when he sees Creek Secrets open on her phone.

“You’re not posting about this, are you?” Victor asks, panicked.

But then he realizes Lake also looks horrified. “Of course not. I…I think someone hacked me?”

“What?” Felix, Victor, and Benji say all at once.

“There’s this article that I _definitely_ did not post,” Lake says, her phone shaking in her hands. “Here, look,” she says and holds it out.

Victor squints as he reads the headline: _Mothman Sighting in Suburbs of Atlanta?_

Felix and Benji both chuckle and Victor looks at them. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, it’s not a joke,” Felix says, “but—”

“There’s just no way Mothman would come this far South,” Benji finishes.

Felix laughs. “ _You_ know about Mothman?”

Benji raises an eyebrow. “Sure. One of the most iconic cryptids out there.”

“Okay, Victor, you have _got_ to keep this guy around—”

“ _Boys!_ ” Lake snaps, her shoulders heaving. “You are missing the point here. Somebody hacked into Creek Secrets and is posting about whoever the hell this moth guy is.”

“Well, is it a good post?”

Lake scoffs and pulls her phone away. “Does that matter? How did they post it in the first place?”

“I don’t know, but consider the implications here!” Felix says excitedly as he sits forward and licks his lips. Gesticulating animatedly with his hands, he begins his tangent. “This is completely different content from what you usually post, right? It targets an entirely new demographic, which means more people will be looking at Creek Secrets and your numbers will go up. As long as you keep posting your own content, everybody will be happy! Win, win!”

Lake’s right eye twitches and Benji makes a sort of unconvinced hum. “I don’t know, Felix. Are there enough people into cryptozoology for that to be worth it? Plus, Lake is right. It’s a huge problem that someone has managed to break in.”

“Right,” Victor agrees. “So they’re posting about this Mothman thing for _now_ , but what if they start harassing people? Or posting really inappropriate stuff?”

“Like what?” Felix asks.

Victor shrugs. “I don’t know, porn?”

Felix snorts and Benji’s cheeks go rosy.

“The point is, there must be some way we can figure out who’s doing this before they—”

Lake cries out again as she looks down at her phone. “There’s already another article. How are they doing this so fast?”

“What’s this one about?” Victor asks.

“Still Mothman,” she says with a frustrated wave of her hand. “Apparently they have photo evidence.” The table goes quiet as Lake scrolls through the post. “Oh, my god. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.” She places her phone on the table and spins it to face the boys.

Victor leans in. The picture is grainy and slightly blurry, like those classic pictures you see of supposed Bigfoot sightings. It was taken as the sun was going down, so the light is weird, but through some trees there’s definitely an odd shape, humanoid from the waist down but with weird appendages jutting from the shoulders.

“Hmm,” Felix and Benji say in tandem.

Victor looks closer and holds down a giggle. “That looks like a hiker with a half-collapsed tent on his back.”

The others all look at him, Lake with relief, Felix and Benji with skepticism.

“No way,” Felix says and pulls the phone closer. Lake groans and snatches it back.

“It doesn’t matter what the picture is. It’s stupid, and I want it off my site.”

“Could you take it to a teacher?” Victor asks, trying to think of a potential solution.

Lake stretches her mouth wide in hesitation. “So, the teachers are not really a fan of Creek Secrets ever since the list went up. I don’t think anybody would be willing to help.”

“What list?” It strikes Victor in this moment how much had happened in Creekwood before the Salazar family arrived. It’s that feeling called “sonder” that Victor’s heard about, the realization that even random passers by have their own lives full of ups and downs, and that sometimes _you’re_ the person in the background of _their_ story. He finds it both comforting and a bit isolating to think about. How many lives has he disrupted since he showed up?

Benji sighs. “Last year, Lake posted two polls. One was to vote for the hottest male student at Creekwood, and the other was to vote for hottest male _teacher_.”

Victor looks at her. “Really? Isn’t that kinda…gross?”

Lake clutches her phone to her chest defensively. “I admit now that it was a bit misguided, but the results were really illuminating. There are some people who can’t be trusted based on their taste in men.”

“Like who?” Felix asks.

Lake scoffs. “Well, I don’t know who they _are_ , I just know they’re out there. It was anonymous. Anyway, the student one was perfectly fine. Benji, you scored pretty high, didn’t you?”

Benji goes red. “Uh, yeah. Second place.”

Lake winks at Victor. “You’ve snatched yourself a silver medal, Victor. Treasure that!”

Victor laughs and nudges Benji under the table. Benji looks at him, clearly embarrassed but also a little proud of himself. Of course, he’s first place in Victor’s eyes. The hair, the hazel eyes, the slight pink hue to his cheeks, his _bone structure_. He realizes he’s staring at Benji’s jawline and returns to the conversation, which has returned to the subject of Mothman. Felix and Benji go back and forth about which parts of the myth they agree and disagree on, but most of it goes right over Victor’s head.

When he looks to Lake, she’s studying him, tapping her chin with her pointer finger. She leans in as Felix and Benji argue about Mothman’s origin and says in a hushed voice, “You _really_ like him, don’t you?”

Victor fights a blush and nods, glancing at Benji, who’s gesturing dramatically and laughing as Felix fights him on something. “Yeah, I do. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this about anyone.”

Lake smiles gently—one of the most genuine smiles Victor has seen from her—and leans back. “Mia will come around, you know. She really cares about you, and even though she has every right to be mad, she’ll realize she can also be happy for you.”

“You think so?”

She nods. “Def. Until then, it seems like we might be seeing more of each other.”

“Why’s that?”

Lake raises her eyebrows and gestures to Felix and Benji, who are now talking about the Chupacabra. “Well, our boys are clearly getting along. Ooh! We should totally double date! You and Felix are already best friends—it _so_ makes sense!” she says with an excited squeal.

“Oh, yeah,” Victor says. But if they’re hanging out the four of them, people will be quick to (correctly) assume that a double date is what’s happening, especially since Benji is so open about being gay. “I guess that would be fun.”

Benji turns to him, smiling. “Hey, my break is over. Are you going to be here for a while?”

The thought of going home makes Victor’s stomach flip-flop. “Yeah, I’ll wait for your shift to be done.”

“Awesome,” Benji says. He pauses, looks at Victor.

“What?” Victor suddenly feels self-conscious with Benji gazing at him so intently.

Benji laughs through his nose. “Nothing,” he says. “I just really wish I could kiss you right now.”

Victor’s whole face is on fire. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait,” he says.

“Yeah, guess so,” Benji says. “Felix, Lake, see you later!”

“Bye, Benji!” Felix says and they bump fists. Lake gives him a little wave.

Victor watches as Benji crosses the café, running a hand through his hair.

“Victor, I always thought Benji was cool, but I didn’t realize he was the coolest human _ever_? Second to you, of course,” Felix says and gently swats Victor’s chest.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” Victor says. Benji catches his eye from behind the counter and winks, then goes to take an order.

Victor can’t tell if working together again is the best or the worst idea ever, but regardless, he’s eager to see how it plays out. Especially if it means more time with Benji. He watches him as he starts prepping a drink, pops a pastry into the toaster oven, so in his element and chatting with the two girls who have approached the counter. Something in Victor unfurls, just a bit. Just enough.

* * *

Two hours pass, slightly awkwardly at first. It’s clear Felix is trying to include Victor as much as he can, and conversely, Lake is definitely itching for some alone time with Felix. After fifteen minutes of watching Lake trying to take the perfect picture of Felix once golden hour has set in, Victor’s genuinely considering moving to a different table to wait for Benji.

Then his phone starts to ring, and he’s granted a way out. He stands and walks toward the windows, but when he looks at the caller ID, any relief flees immediately. Victor picks up.

“Hi, Mom.”

There’s a sigh on the end of the line. “Victor, where are you?”

“I’m at Brasstown with Felix. Why?”

“Do I need a reason to know where my teenage son is? _Mijo_ , I…I know things are complicated right now, but that doesn’t mean you can disappear and not tell anybody.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay, love. I think you should come home now.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, Victor, I’m serious. Pilar and Adrian just got home, and your father and I have some things we need to discuss with you and your sister.”

“Great, that sounds like a lot of fun.”

She pauses. “Do _not_ take an attitude with me. Come home. Now.” Her tone is firm but still gentle.

Victor groans. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

He stomps back over to their table and Felix looks up at him, concerned. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. My mom just told me I have to come home, like I’m some little kid,” he says. Okay, the pout on his face _is_ a bit juvenile, but he’d been having a good time.

“Aw,” Lake says and mirrors his pout. “Well, I’m going to make sure I talk to Mia soon, okay? I still think she’s right to be mad, but it makes me so sad to think that you might stop being friends.”

Victor forces a smile and nods. “Thanks, Lake. I’ll see you two later?”

“Totes. I was serious about that double date, too! Think about it!” Lake calls as Victor rushes out of the store and walks home, his pulse pounding all the way there.

* * *

They’re sitting at the table this time, which Victor tries to convince himself is a sign that things will be better. However, the terse looks on his parents’ faces thwart any hope he has.

“So,” his mother starts and looks back and forth between him and Pilar. “I know we’ve been talking about making some pretty big changes recently, and that hearing that was upsetting for both of you.”

Pilar crosses her arms and sits back, averting her eyes. She wants nothing to do with this conversation.

“But your father and I have been talking, and…we’ve changed our minds about separating. Just for now.”

Victor leans forward, brows knit together. “What? Why? All you ever do is fight.”

“Victor’s right,” Pilar says, tone somewhere between indifferent and indignant. “As much as it would suck for you guys to separate, it at least made sense. This is just bull—”

Their mother puts her hands up for silence. “Language, Pilar.”

She rolls her eyes and sinks down further in her seat.

“Your father and I have come to an agreement, and…because things are a bit abnormal right now, we decided it would be best if we all stayed together as best as we can. Especially with summer coming, maybe we can take the opportunity and have some quality family time, you know? Since we got here, I feel like we hardly see each other anymore.”

Victor sighs and opens his mouth to say something. Closes it. Then, “You were the ones who told me I should get a job.”

“Of course, and it’s so good that you’re working! I don’t want that to stop. I just want us all to try to understand each other a little better, that’s all. Mando?”

Their father has been sitting silently, his posture actually similar to Pilar’s: arms crossed, slouching in his chair. “I have nothing to add.”

“This is because of me, isn’t it?” Victor says. He lays one hand on top of the other and stares down at his fingers. “Because of what I told you last night.”

“I…” she says, looks to her husband, who says nothing, and then back to Victor. “We’re just worried about you, Victor.”

“And you think staying together so you can keep fighting the way you do is going to help me at all?”

“I don’t like this tone,” she snaps. “We have some issues, yes, but taking care of you kids is always the top priority. It always has been.”

Pilar laughs and their mother glares at her.

“Oh, that’s funny?”

“Wasn’t it a joke?”

She sighs and leans back. “I don’t have time for this. All we’ve ever done is try our best to do what’s best for you two and Adrian. I know it’s hard to see past the mistakes we made that led us here, but we’re _here_ , okay? And there’s nothing to be done about that.” Her accent is coming through stronger than usual, a sure sign that emotions are rising. She takes a deep breath. “Before you go, there’s one more thing. Victor, we found a counselor for you.”

“A counselor? Why?”

“Because we think it could be beneficial for you to talk to someone—”

“This is insane—”

“—who knows what they’re talking about—”

“—I don’t need help—”

“—and figure out what’s going on with you!”

Victor stands and turns in a circle, so frustrated; all this energy needs to go _somewhere_. “I don’t know how to explain to you that nothing is 'going on' with me. I’m still the same person you knew two days ago!”

“The Victor I know doesn’t speak to his parents this way,” his father says, also standing. “I always hoped you would stand up for yourself when you needed to, but this has gotten out of hand. You are _not_ —” but he cuts himself off, can’t even say the word. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You have your first appointment on Monday after school. All three of us will go together.”

“So I don’t even get a choice in this?” Victor asks, eyes stinging.

“Both of you, please, sit down,” his mother says. “We’ve already paid for the first five appointments, so you _will_ attend them whether you like it or not.”

“This is insane,” Pilar mutters. “Why I am even part of this conversation?”

“Because we know you two talk to each other, and we’d rather you hear it from us so you can get the facts.”

Victor returns to his seat but leaves it pushes away from the table, elbows on knees, head in his hands. “What kind of counselor?” he asks. His mother looks at him for a second. “ _What kind of counselor?_ ”

She swallows a yelp. “She’s…an Evangelical reparative counselor.”

“What does that mean?” Victor says, head popping out of his hands. He’s crying again, because apparently that’s something he does all the time now. “Like, conversion?” He doesn't know much about conversion therapy, but everything he's head ash been overwhelmingly negative.

“No, Victor, it’s _reparative_. We did some research and it seems like this is the best option to help you sort through whatever feelings you’re having and come to a conclusion about who you are.”

“But I _know_ who I am,” Victor says through a sob and covers his eyes. Oh yes, he knows who he is, but he didn’t know he could hate any part of himself so much.

“Okay, okay,” she says and rises from the table, coming around to crouch next to him and rub his back. “We’re just going to give it a try, all right, love? I think it could be very helpful for you—for _all_ of us, just to better understand this.”

Victor pulls in a trembling breath and nods. “Okay,” he says, because he’s _so tired_ of fighting. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” his mother says and plants a kiss on his temple. “We’re going to get through all of this together. It will be better soon, I promise.”

He wants to believe her, but even as they sit quiet in the kitchen, Victor’s shallow breaths and distant clacking of toys from Adrian’s room the only sounds in their home, he thinks that the part of him that allows him to believe is being chipped away, dissolving.

Victor collapses into bed after dinner, a painful pressure in his chest. He looks at his phone and instantly feels worse.

**_Benji_** _: Hey, I thought you were going to wait for my shift to be done :( Is everything ok? Felix and Lake were gone by the time I finished. [8:12 PM]_

Victor scowls and throws his arm over his face. Great, now he’s fucking _this_ up, too.

 ** _Victor_** : _Shit, I am SO sorry. Can I call you? [8:13 PM]_

Before he can gather himself, his phone starts to buzz; Benji's FaceTiming him.

“Hi,” Victor says as he answers. Benji looks adorable; he’s just showered by the looks of his hair, wet and slicked back, and he’s wearing a t-shirt that must be two sizes too big.

“Hi,” Benji says carefully. “Victor, what happened?”

Victor sighs and falls backward, taking Benji with him. He holds the phone above his face and explains. “My mom called me all upset and told me I had to get home right away, and I guess I was so upset that I didn’t even think to tell you I was leaving. I really was planning to wait until your shift ended.”

Benji smiles, but his eyes look sad. “I know, but you _didn’t_ wait.”

“Benji…”

“Please, just, in the future, tell me if you have to leave? It really sucked to look over and see that you were gone.”

Victor nods. “I promise, it won’t happen again.”

There’s a nod from Benji, but it makes Victor’s stomach hurt to see that he doesn’t seem fully convinced. “How are things at home?”

Victor pauses and glances at the door, wondering if someone is listening in. The Salazars are not known to eavesdrop, but Victor doesn’t know what’s real anymore. “Things are fine,” he says.

“So why was your mom upset?”

“Oh, that’s…just because I didn’t tell her I was coming to Brasstown, nothing serious.” It’s part of the truth, at least. That’s all Victor has in him right now.

“I get that,” Benji says. “My parents would freak, too. After…you know.”

“Right,” Victor says, the picture of a car lodged in a fast food restaurant flashing in his head. “Makes sense.”

Benji’s eyes soften and his brows arch. “Victor, are you _sure_ you’re okay? I’m…I’m worried about you.”

His heart skips, skids to a halt, then revs back up to speed. On the one hand, he hates that Benji is worried about _anything_ , but on the other hand, it’s mollifying to know that he cares. Victor forces a smile. “I’m fine. Really. I just need some time to process the last couple of days, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Benji says. “I know it’s a Saturday night, but I have some homework I should get to.”

“Me too,” Victor says. “Would you…maybe want to stay on FaceTime while we work?”

Benji smiles and laughs through his nose. “Yeah, that would be nice. But if you distract me, I’m hanging up!”

Victor laughs. “Fine, no distractions, I swear!”

“All right, but I warned you.”

“Oh, wait, can I call you back in a minute? I just need to do something really quick.”

Benji narrows his eyes slightly, but says, “Sure, talk to you in a few,” before Victor hangs up. He opens up another app and types like crazy.

**_Dear Simon,_ **

**_Thank you for being there. It really makes me feel better that I can count on your advice. I just had a quick question: have you ever heard of “reparative therapy”? My parents just told me they’re taking me to see some counselor starting on Monday, and I don’t know if I should be freaked out or not._ **

**_In other news, they did a complete 180 and told us they’re not separating, just for now. I feel like it’s my fault and maybe neither one of them wanted to handle all of this alone, but I don’t know. I’m worried they’re just going to fight more than ever, and it makes me feel sick to think that I’m the reason. Hopefully things get better soon, because it’s only been two days and I don’t think I can do this for much longer._ **

**_Hey, maybe I can come visit you again during the summer? I don’t want to invite myself, but if it turns out that you have some free time and don’t mind me crashing on your couch, I think it might be really good for me to get away from Atlanta for a little while. Just an idea, no pressure. I miss you all!_ **

**_~Victor_ **

He sends the message and takes a deep breath. There. _Somebody_ knows. It’s a huge reprieve to have at least one person he can tell everything to, someone who won’t judge him or make things weird. Victor wonders if he’ll ever be like Simon: out, proud, wise enough to help someone struggling. Even if he can never return all of the favors Simon has done for him, maybe someday he could pay it forward, be someone else’s guru. Or something.

Victor’s mind is wandering, picturing what Simon, Bram, and their roommates might be up to. It’s unreal to him that these people could have had such an impact on his life in a few short days, and especially after he’d almost blown it completely in his misunderstanding.

It’s still early, but the stress of the day (paired with the fact that he never actually ordered a coffee at Brasstown) has his eyelids sliding down, so heavy, his body relaxing, his breathing evening out. Before he can stop himself, Victor falls asleep, phone in his hand, a text from Benji flashing.


	4. Heretical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERETICAL; _adj_. — of, relating to, or characteristic of heretics or heresy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY was this chapter a doozy to write. First of all, apologies that it's a bit late! I'm on vacation and reading has really taken a front seat to writing, so I didn't want to rush myself. This was also a really difficult section, mostly because of how upsetting some of the content is. Still, I feel good about what I'm doing here and despite how hopeless things might seem for Victor at the moment, just know that good things are coming too!!
> 
> Just a content warning for homophobic religious beliefs, discussion of conversion therapy, and use of a slur. It's a rough one, y'all.

Victor taps his foot, beating a staccato rhythm into the ugly, outdated carpet of the waiting room. His mother sits to his left, clutching her purse; his father is to his right, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Of course, nobody feels that more deeply than Victor himself. The past forty-eight hours have been spent in a state of mild suppressed panic; he’s been jumpy, irritable, quiet. He hasn’t slept very much, either.

For one thing, he’d managed to completely blow off Benji twice in one day. It’s beyond frustrating, because that’s _not_ who Victor is. Victor always shows up. Victor doesn’t let things fall through—even little things like FaceTiming while doing homework. And that’s another thing. School has never been a topic about which Victor is particularly motivated, but his mind has been so far from Algebra II or _The Merchant of Venice_.

He’d apologized to Benji profusely the next day, but for the most part, Benji avoided him in the hallways at school today. Because Victor needed something else to worry about. And yes, it’s his own fault, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear—if anything, things have only been harder.

 _If Benji knew what I’m going through_ , he thinks. But he _could_. Victor could do something completely outlandish and communicate openly with him, the thing he’d already promised to do while sitting in Benji’s car outside Brasstown.

A man comes out into the small room from the hallway that leads down into a few offices. He’s tall with an oddly shaped body: thin legs and neck, face like a rat, pale skin with beady eyes, but with a robust midsection. Victor recalls a morbid fact about drowning, that gases build up in your abdomen if your body is in water for too long. This man has a vaguely drowned look about him.

“Are you the Salazars?” he asks.

Victor’s mother stands, still clinging to her purse like she can’t breathe without it. “That’s us,” she says with a forced smile, voice breathy and high.

“Perfect. So. We took a look at your paperwork and Eileen and myself decided it would be more lucrative to have Victor work with me instead of her. I hope that’s all right with you.”

Victor has a staring contest with the carpet, lets his eyes swirl around the ugly purple curlicues. It looks transplanted from a bowling alley in the 90’s.

“Oh!” his mother says, still faking pleasant. “Armando?” she asks, turning.

“I can’t see why it would make a difference,” he says, indifferent,

“Victor?”

“Yeah. Sure. Fine.”

The man smiles. Victor very much does not smile back.

“Excellent! My name is Doctor Russo, but I prefer Evan. The three of you can come on back now.”

“All of us?” Victor’s mother asks.

Drowned-doctor smiles patiently halfway through a turn back towards his office. “Well, yes. About halfway through I’ll ask you and your husband to step out,” he says. His eyebrow twitches; both of Victor’s parents have had some kind of facial reaction to the word ‘husband.’

“All right, let’s do this,” his mother says. “Victor?”

It feels like a gargantuan task to stand and follow this man back through the hallway, but Victor knows failure to comply will only cause a scene.

His first though: The office is fucking ugly.

There’s a desk toward the corner: old, chipped wood with faux gold decals, some of which have gone a bit green. The walls are painted an unwelcome shade of beige, and the furniture all matches, a set of olive green couches and chairs that have seen better days.

“Victor, you’ll take that chair. Mom and Dad, on the couch, if you will.” Dr. Russo pulls his own chair from behind his desk and angles it to face the Salazars as they settle. “How was the drive in? Find the place okay?”

“Oh, yes, fine,” Victor’s mother says and crosses her legs at the ankle. She’s pressed against the armrest, as far away from her husband as she can be.

“Good, good,” the doctor says. “Well, I guess we should go ahead and get started, then. Victor, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

Victor eyes him, somewhere between panicked and apathetic. His palms sweat as he asks, “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dr. Russo replies in a good-natured way. “Hobbies? Favorite subject at school?”

“I wouldn’t say any subject is my favorite,” Victor says, which earns him a forced laugh. This guy is really laying it on thick already. “They’re all fine, I guess. I’m on the basketball team.”

“Wow, basketball! I used to play when I was in high school. Was never good at it though.”

Victor nods and the corners of his mouth turn up into an unamused smile.

“Anything else?”

“I have a job at a coffee shop. Not much else. We only moved here at the beginning of the year, so I haven’t had a lot of time to get involved.”

“Being employed is certainly a respectable thing for a young man your age. I’m sure more will open up the longer you’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“Now, Victor, can you tell me why it is you’re here?”

Something sticks in his throat and he fights to swallow it down. With a glance to his parents—both tense, knuckles white and foreheads shiny—Victor says, “Because…I’m gay.”

A nod from Russo. “Yes, although I prefer to look at it less as who you _are_ and more as how you’re _feeling_.”

“Wouldn’t you say that how you feel is what makes you who you are?”

“Victor,” his mother warns, but he doesn’t even spare her a glance.

Russo smiles. “To a certain extent, maybe. But this is not one of those cases. Are you familiar with the Bible, Victor?”

“Sort of. We used to go to Mass every Sunday, so I heard a lot of readings there.”

“Used to?” Russo asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, pressing the tips of his fingers together. He looks to Victor’s parents and his mother shifts forward on the couch.

“Things have been so chaotic since we moved, so we haven’t been very much in the last couple of months.”

“I’m not here to pass judgement.” _Not on them, at least,_ Victor thinks. “I’m just trying to understand the background, that’s all. Would you consider yourself a religious person, Victor?”

He scratches his cheek and looks at a painting hanging across from him, a really horrendous rendering of a bowl of fruit. Either the painter was a fraud or the bowl of fruit had been rotting, because all of the colors are muddy, false.

“Not really, no.”

“But you’ve been raised in the Catholic Church?”

“I guess.”

“Do you at least have a groundwork understanding of your beliefs as a Christian?”

Victor scoffs. “Yes, I do.” Even though he’s not sure how much he actually subscribes to them, he doesn’t appreciate the insult to his intelligence. Of course he _knows_. But there’s a difference between knowing and believing.

“All right, then. So, when did these thoughts first start?”

The stark pivot in topic maes Victor blink rapidly for a moment. “Um. I don’t know. A couple years ago, I guess. I just didn’t feel like I was like any of the guys my age.”

“Are there other reasons for that?”

Victor racks his brain. In some cases it came down to culture, to physical difference, but back in Texas there was a bigger Latino population than even Atlanta, so it wasn’t isolating or anything. “Not that I can think of.”

“Hmm,” Russo says. He rubs his chin and leans back in his chair. “Have you felt romantic interest in a girl?”

“Victor had a girlfriend,” his mother says.

“Is that so? What happened there?”

“I realized I don’t like girls so we broke up.”

“But something must have sparked that initial relationship.”

“When it started, I was trying to convince myself to be something I wasn’t,” Victor says, patient thinning by the second. “But that didn’t work, and I ended up hurting people in the process.” And he wonders now if he hurt himself worst of all.

Another interested hum from Russo. “Victor, how do you feel about these thoughts that you’re having?”

“I don’t know,” he says automatically. Truthfully, he’s afraid to answer honestly, to tell Dr. Russo that it terrifies him, that even the word “gay” still makes his guts cramp up every time it stampedes through his skull. “I feel better now that I’ve stopped trying to shove them away.”

“But have you considered the repercussions?”

“Like what?”

“Homosexuality is sinful, Victor. Willfully choosing that lifestyle is actively opposing God’s will. Are you aware of that?”

Of course he’s aware of that _viewpoint_. But that’s all it is, right? An outdated, bigoted viewpoint?

“And though, while unnatural, it’s not the thoughts themselves that are sinful. It’s the action that’s damning.”

Something churns in Victor’s chest, swirling strains of internalized pain in and out of his ribcage. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that in order to comply with God and stand in his grace, you have to make the choice not to act on sinful desires. The same is true of sexual acts outside of a marriage; this is not a concept exclusive to homosexual tendencies. We are human, imperfect by design, and so often these thoughts are meant to strengthen our bond with God. We need to turn to him and pray for guidance, for the strength to make the right choices.”

There’s a ringing in Victor’s right ear, a faint, shrill flatline. His eyes are wide, mouth dry, shoulders hunched. Teeth grind together as he takes this in. “So,” he says, voice like shattered glass, “I’m just supposed to be alone forever?”

“That’s certainly an option. Some people are called to a life of celibacy regardless of the kinds of urges they experience, and that kind of life can be extremely fulfilling. Of course, romantic love is not the only love that exists. Familial love, as I’m sure you know, is just as strong, if not stronger. Platonic love between friends is another example.”

Victor thinks of Benji’s smile, glittering eyes, the feel of his lips against Victor’s mouth. “But what if I don’t want that? To be single forever?”

“That’s what you’re here for. If we’re able to locate the root of these urges, there are ways to remedy the psychological effects. There are a variety of studies done on homosexuality and how it relates to various traumas and experiences during formative years, and there are certain trends that have been noted. Boys who are mostly friends with girls, for example, become too familiar with the female body and therefore compensate by feeling attraction to other male bodies.”

Victor wants to shake his head, to tell this idiot he’s wrong. Has Victor noticed things about Benji’s body? Absolutely. He’s physically attracted to him, but that’s not all there is to it. It’s the emotional bond, the way Benji makes him _feel_. Here in this moment, Victor thinks about a hypothetical sacrifice, about a relationship with no intimate touch, of strict emotionality. But that would just be a friendship, wouldn’t it?

“There are also links to parental figures, of course,” Dr. Russo continues and spreads his hands. “But we don’t need to get into all of that just yet. For now, let me just assure you that there are ways to correct your emotional experience and aid you in processing whatever urges you may be having. Many of our clients see massive change in as little as a year, and many of them go on to lead happy, fulfilling lives, both married and single.”

“So what’s the difference between this and conversion?” Victor asks before he can stop himself. He waits for his mother to chide him, but it doesn’t come.

Russo smiles—a dangerous, perfunctory kind of smile—and leans forward. “It’s quite simple. There’s no real _conversion_ happening here, as homosexuality is not an identity but rather an ongoing choice to follow impure thoughts. Our goal is to repair the psyche and help you to see that, fundamentally, you haven’t changed as a person. Rather, you’ve come to terms with what a sinful, human mind presents so you may work through and beyond it.”

So there it is. It’s all a matter of semantics, of different definitions of the starting point. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Do you want it to work?”

The question is an old stab wound, reopened and dripping onto the musty cream carpet. For so long, Victor didn’t want to acknowledge this part of himself. It felt like a shameful secret, something that nobody is ever supposed to find out. And then he met Simon, he met Benji. His friends don’t _seem_ sinful in their very existence. Simon’s parents are the first to support his relationship with Bram; does this mean they’re allowing their son to descend into sin? Maybe they’re not religious, but that only proposes more questions. While he’s never been deeply in touch with Catholicism, with the Church, Victor has also never known anything else. How could these teachings be right if there are so many people out in the world, openly gay with loving partners, so many of them doing so much good, ushering in so much change? And Victor is to believe that hellfire is the only thing awaiting them on the other side, all because they chose to listen to their heart instead of some ancient book?

So Victor doesn’t answer Russo’s question. He just shrugs.

“All right. Mom and Dad, if it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to talk to Victor alone for a bit. I’m going to have you go sit next door and I’ll bring him back out once we wrap things up. Sound good?”

Victor looks to his parents and tries to get a read on their expressions. His mother seems upset, his father a blank slate.

“Yes, that’s fine,” his mother says, voice shaky. They stand together and make to exit the room; as they pass, she crouches down and takes Victor’s face in her hands. “We’ll just be right outside.”

He nods and averts his eyes. The door closes behind them and Russo adjusts in his chair, squeaks the only sound in the thick silence.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

Again, Victor shrugs. “I don’t know. That I have a lot to think about.”

“Sure. That’s an absolutely fair response. Victor, it’s important you know that this isn’t your fault. Life is full of so many challenges—for some more than others—and it’s only with God that we’re able to clear all of our toughest hurdles. We’re going to work together to define those obstacles more clearly, and with a combination of psychology and prayer, help you find some peace of mind. You have to understand, Victor, that the point of all of this is _salvation_.” He says this with a big smile on his face, arms outstretched. “It’s a lifelong process for some, but ultimately a small price to pay for eternal life.”

Victor is infuriated that the urge to cry is building in his throat, and even mores that the tears refuse to come. It’s not like he’d been particularly stoked about coming to terms with his sexuality, but now thinking about it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

“Well, let’s move on from all of that for now,” Russo says with nonchalance. “Can you tell me about your home life, Victor? Are you close with your parents?”

“Oh. Um, yeah,” he says, almost shocked at the sound of his own voice, tinny and false in his ears. “I love my mom more than anything in the whole world. We’ve always been really close. Things have been a little bit weird recently, but I don’t think it’s changed a lot.”

“And your father?”

Victor hesitates. “We’ve always been close, too, I guess. But he seems like a different person lately.” He’s thinking prior to even coming out, to finding out the extent of what happened between his mother, his father, his father’s boss. “Both of them, really.”

“Do you feel like you have issues with connecting to your father?”

“Not usually.” His answers are short, clipped. Just get through this appointment and figure out how the hell to move on to whatever comes next.

Russo asks him a few more questions—What are your siblings like? How long have you been playing basketball? What do you want to do when you’re older? And back to more serious ones—Do you have other positive male role models in your life? Have you ever felt your relationship with your mother is smothering? What was your upbringing like in Texas? Victor answers all of these as simply as possible, not exactly thrilled to supply this man any information about his life. He purposely brushes over all of the recent drama in his parents’ marriage.

Eventually, Russo nods and adjusts his position in his chair. “All right. I think it might do you some good if we end things here and you have some time to talk to your parents, really take all of this in, and come in with fresh eyes next time. Sound good to you?”

“Sure,” Victor says, monotone.

“Excellent. You seem like quite the upstanding young man, Victor, and I’m looking forward to getting you back on the right path here. Things may seem scary and unfair right now, but in the long run I think you’ll see how crucial this is to your relationship with God and the world around you.”

Victor nods, eyes glazed over, as Dr. Russo stands and ushers him out of the office. Russo pokes his head into the office next door and Victor’s parents hurry out, continue down the hallway and out the back door. It feels shady as anything, but Russo explains as they go that one entrance and one exit is the best way to ensure confidentiality. To Victor, it sounds like he knows what he’s doing is immoral and doesn’t want his patients to mix, to compare stories and see that something vile is happening across the board. But he has nothing to compare his own experience to, so it’s more a feeling than a real theory.

The car ride home starts in absolute silence. Clouds are bunching up in knots on the horizon, the promise of rain looming ahead of the Salazars.

About five minutes in, Victor’s mother finally speaks. “So, Victor, what do you think?” There’s a forced positivity, an optimism that’s betrayed by the heaviness in her tone.

Victor says nothing, because he feels nothing. Nothing he wants to address internally, at any rate. Right now, it’s easier to shove it all down, block it out.

“ _Mijo_ , I know this is going to be a big change, but I think Dr. Russo is a nice man who really just wants to help.” Something small and animal skitters around inside him when he hears this. Because even his mother isn’t convinced.

“Sure,” Victor says, afraid of potential consequences if he refuses to respond.

His father is at the wheel, eyes darting back and forth between the road and his rearview mirror. Victor meets his eye and sees a look that’s so foreign, so unfamiliar, he wonders if he’s jumped in the wrong car. This man is not his father. “We’re doing this for you, Victor. To save you from yourself,” he says, words like concrete through a cheese grater.

“I don’t need saving.”

“You heard the doctor. It is _sinful_. Unnatural. And how do you even know that’s what you really want, huh? Just because you saw those two boys kissing at your birthday party?” His voice is rising, a gravel ripening out in his tone. “Your grandfather was right, you know. It was big of you to stand up to him, and I stick by that, but you’ve taken it too far, now. This is not you. You have no idea what you really want.”

As the rain breaks open over Atlanta, Victor rests his forehead against the car window, the bumps in the road sending his skull bumping up against the glass, head vibrating with the tires on the road.

“Do you understand me?”

Victor squeezes his eyes shut. “I do know what I want. I know because I kissed someone,” he says, the words rushing out like water from a cracked faucet. “I’m _with_ someone.”

His father slams to a halt at a red light, the crimson glow lighting up the flat rage on his face in the rainy gloom. “What. Did you just say?”

“One of the boys from the party,” Victor says, pride in his proximity to Benji rising up in his chest in tandem with a sudden insubordination. “He broke up with his boyfriend because he wanted to be with me.”

His mother is fully turned around in her seat, eyes wide and glowing as the light switches to green. His father’s hands tremble at the steering wheel, the color drained from his face. The car behind them honks a few seconds after the light has turned but the Salazars’ vehicle doesn’t move. Another honk. Victor’s pulse is rising, singing high and fast in his ears, pulsing dull in his eyes, as the car behind lays on the horn and whips around, shooting through the intersection.

The light switches red again.

“Armando—”

His father whips around in his seat, eyes bulging, teeth bared. “You will not see him again. _Look at me!_ ”

More out of feat than anything, Victor pulls his face away from the window and looks into his father’s crazed, unrecognizable eyes.

“If I find out the two of you have so much as _spoken_ , there will be severe consequences. For both of you.”

“What do you think you’re gonna do to him?” Victor shouts, the world bathed in blood around him. “Believe it or not, _his_ parents don’t think he’s fucked up just because he likes boys!”

“Victor!” his mother says, scandalized.

“No, Mom, I’m sorry, but this is all such _bullshit_! I really like Benji, and he’s good to me, and he's patient, and he _cares_ , which is more than I feel I can say about either of you,” he yells, throat hoarse and raw. “We go to school together, we work together, you can’t _do_ this!”

His father’s jaw is locked, teeth audibly grinding, and then the light turns green and he turns with a horrible shriek and slams on the gas, rocketing forward as Victor’s mother screams and clutches his upper arm. She screams his name and yanks at his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop until they hit another red light; the car screeches to a halt, brakes squealing.

“No son of mine is going to be influenced by some—some _queer_ ,” his father shouts, eyes squeezed shut. He smashes the heels of both hands against the steering wheel and cries out again.

“Armando…” Victor’s mother is crying, cowering away from him against the passenger side door.

He turns one last time, jabs a quaking finger at Victor. “ _You’re done with him_.”

Victor so desperately wants to argue back, to say something, but he has to swallow a mouthful of bile as the light turns green and his father squeals the car forward once more. And so this pattern continues until they reach home; he almost crashes the car parking it, and as soon as it’s stopped its incessant, petulant motion, Victor wrenches his door open and sprints inside, up the stairs, into his room, locking the door and throwing himself so hard at his bed that he hurts some muscle in his neck in the process.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, limbs crooked, uncomfortable, taking labored breaths. A crushing weight collapses on his shoulders, Atlas holding up the world as Zeus stands over him, pushing down, lightning crackling through his veins.

Eventually, his phone vibrating in his pocket forces him out of this stupor.

**_Benji_** _: Hey. I think we should probably talk. Not scary talk, but there’s something going on and it’ll kill me if I don’t try to do something about it. Consider your apology accepted. [6:17 PM]_

Victor stares at the message for minutes, fingers hovering over his keyboard, but he hears his father out in the kitchen, arguing with his mother, so he closes his messages and turns his phone off. He doesn’t emerge from his room for the rest of the night, not when there’s a gentle knock on his door and his mother’s voice saying, “Dinner time, _amor_ ,” not when Adrian screams in the hallway, “Victor, I have something I really want to show you!” and not even when Pilar knocks roughly, begging him to let her in. He lies on his back, borderline catatonic, the pile of homework due tomorrow taunting him from his desk.

And this torpor continues throughout the week. Victor hurries at his locker, hoping Benji won’t come try to find him. Despite attempts to foster distance, Benji texts Victor every morning and every night, a stubborn patience driving him to compassion. The messages are all along the same lines: _You can tell me anything, you know that?_ and _Whatever’s going on, I want to help you through it_ , and _I wish you would just talk to me. I think we’re both hurting even more now._

Even Felix becomes periphery; at first, he’s like a fly, buzzing around Victor’s ears with genuine concern and the desire to help, to fix. Eventually, Victor finds he doesn’t have to drown Felix out anymore. By Wednesday, he’s stopped attempting to communicate. Victor’s hand radio goes completely silent. Come Friday, Felix doesn’t even sit with Victor at lunch, makes no attempt at small talk in the hallways, steers clear of Victor’s locker.

At home, Victor feels more and more tamped down, a twisted red moon nearing eclipse. He speaks to nobody, eats very little, and allows a good amount of his schoolwork to go undone. All but one of his teachers have spoken to him by the end of the week, and to all of them he’s given a flat apology and an empty promise of making up the work.

Because what’s the point of trying if he already has all of this sin germinating at his core? If what Dr. Russo had said is true, Victor has two options. One, he could cut this part of himself loose. That’s what the therapy is supposed to be for, anyway. But he has this gnawing feeling that it isn’t so simple, that people are never afforded a clean break. When you hack out a part of your own soul, there’s no way to tell where one part starts and another begins; extract the tooth, brush the nerve, compromise the root.

Or, two, he could fake his way through therapy, follow all of the steps, all the advice, betray his parents. Try to live this life as he thought he was supposed to, the way he finally came to terms with, knowing all along that God—if there even is one, Victor isn’t sure anymore—will only ever see this as weakness, as surrendering to sin.

There’s a third option, but one that with everything Victor has been force-fed feels like a delusion, a glittering but ultimately false hope.

Maybe Dr. Russo is wrong, maybe his _parents_ are wrong. Maybe love as it wants to be— _needs_ to be—isn’t sin at all.

* * *

Friday afternoon, as Victor sits alone in the cafeteria (unless you count the headache that has taken up residence in his head, rent-free) and pokes at a grease-soaked slice of pizza, his phone chimes. Message from Simon. A week ago, this would have been the ultimate reprieve, a brief flash of sun through clouds, but now Victor’s empty stomach turns at the sight of his name, a complicated medley of envy, anger, and shame burning through his stomach like acid.

**_Victor,_ **

**_My god…_** [At this, Victor can’t help but let out a dark, sardonic chuckle, because, well…] ** _Listen to me when I say that reparative therapy is bad news. The way I see it, there’s no real difference between that and conversion therapy, just different names and supposedly different methodology. Either way, it’s extremely harmful and, from what I’ve heard, more or less a way of gaslighting young queer people into heteronormativity. Please, if your parents do force you to go, try not to take it to heart. People use the Bible to justify all kinds of bigoted ideals, but it’s all bullshit._**

**_I talked to my mom about it (she’s a psychologist) and she’s pretty worried for you. We all are. I’m not trying to worry you, but it just upsets me to think that you’re going through all of this. I know you probably have a good support system at home (Felix and Benji, at the very least), but I can’t see why you couldn’t come visit for the summer. Bram and I will be staying in the city—we both have internships, so we’d be out during the day, but you’d be free to hang out or explore NYC as much as you want, and then nights we could hang out. It’ll be safe there. Our roommates will likely be away, so you could even have a real bed!_ **

**_Honestly, this is ridiculous that we’re still communicating like this (though it’s been sort of fun, right?). So this is my phone number. Feel free to text, call, whatever. Also, have you talked to Ms. Albright at all? I know she’s not really a counselor or anything like that, but she was a huge support back when I was going through everything at Creekwood, and I know she would be more than willing to help you out._ **

**_I wish I could say more. My family isn’t very religious, so I never had those influences in my life. I don’t want to tell you that religion is wrong, or bad, or anything like that. But it’s definitely possible that it’s wrong about some things. I don’t want to tell you how to feel, but look at me and Bram. We’re both gay, both very happy, and both good people (I think, at least). It just doesn’t make sense that our love could be bad. That’s always really confused me. I guess my point is, try not to get too caught up in it._ **

**_Please take care of yourself. Make sure you’re eating. Get some sleep. Stay on top of your schoolwork if you can. (God, I sound like my mom…) And keep me updated, as always. It makes me so upset that things are so hard right now, but from what I know about you, you’ll find a way to come out an even more amazing person than you already are._ **

**_Love, Simon_ **

Sure enough, the ten digits of Simon’s actual phone number wink at Victor from the bottom of the message. He reads it twice, three times, grease pooling on his pizza as it cools. As encouraging as it is, something about it keeps snagging in his mind. Is Simon right? Is it the Church that’s wrong, or is it largely society that’s strayed from the straight and narrow? It makes his chest deflate to think about this, to not even know what he believes anymore, what world view is the right one. It would make things so much easier if his parents were wrong, if Dr. Russo was preaching a harmful and incorrect narrative, but what if that’s the entire problem?

He goes to read the message again but almost inhales his own tongue when someone sits down directly across from him. When he looks up, Benji is eyeing him, an impenetrable look on his face. “Hi, Victor,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Can we talk? You look like you need it.”

He’s right; when Victor looked in the mirror before school this morning, he was greeted by dark circles under his eyes and a slight but unmistakably green tint to his skin.

Victor looks down at his lunch, cold and unsavory on the scratched plastic tray. “Right now?”

“We still have almost forty minutes for lunch.” His voice is icy, stiff. Victor knows he deserves it, know that sympathy should not be easy for Benji to conjure right now, but it hurts all the same.

“I…can’t. My dad will kill both of us if he finds out we’re speaking.”

Benji’s taut expression melts, replaced by one of bewildered concern. “Whoah. Victor, what’s going on?”

Not sure where to start, Victor forces a smile as tears spring into his eyes. Benji looks around; it seems nobody is paying them any special attention, but he stands regardless. “Maybe we should do this somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” Victor croaks and follows him, abandoning the bright red tray. He meets Felix’s eye as he passes, then accidentally meets _Mia’s_ eye; Lake is chattering away about something, her back turned, oblivious to the naked concern on her friends’ faces. Victor shoves them out of his head. There’s no room for them right now.

He follows Benji out of the cafeteria and into an empty classroom, which he’s not sure is allowed but doesn’t question.

Benji turns to him, a mixture of stern anger and deep concern. “What the hell is going on with you, and why do you refuse to talk to me, even after we said we would always be honest with each other?”

Victor sits in one of the desks, his head in his hands. Afternoon light pours into the classroom, spring sounds of chirping birds and breeze coming in through an open window. And when he looks up at Benji, sees the way the light is hitting him, it all spills out. His parents, the therapy, his father banning Victor from being with Benji. It’s like he leaves his body and watches himself telling the story; the farther in he gets, the more it feels like someone has gashed his stomach open and everything is just sort of hanging out.

Benji sits at the desk next to him about halfway through, eyes wide, brows arched, bottom lip quivering. When Victor finishes, Benji dabs at his eyes with a sleeve. “Fucking shit, Victor. This has been going on all week and you haven’t told _anyone_?”

“There’s one person who knows, actually.” He pauses and Benji juts his head forward in inquisition. “Simon Spier.”

Benji blinks, so thrown off his emotion flees for a moment. “Like, famous gay Creekwood alumnus Simon Spier?”

And then Victor explains that, too, all the way from the beginning, the initial (and rather abrasive) communication, the friendship that had formed, Victor’s impromptu trip to NYC. By the end, Benji’s jaw hangs open.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all of this.”

Victor drums his fingers on the desk, picks at a fingernail. “I never meant to lie to you. It just didn’t seem like the time to tell you about it yet.”

“I need you to understand something, Victor. And I’m only saying this because I care about you and want things to get better.”

Victor looks to him, all golden backlight and soft expression.

“You’re hurting people. And one of those people is yourself.”

Victor chews at the inside of his bottom lip, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Your actions have consequences. And I get that there’s a lot recently that’s been out of your control, but the way you just ghosted me for a week… I can’t do that. It’s not fair to me. Your pain is real, I’m not trying to discount that, but you have to realize that those things can both be true. Your hurt doesn’t cancel mine out. That being said,” he continues, he voice becoming more gentle as he slides his desk slightly closer, “I can’t even imagine what’s going on in your head for you to be like this. You look like you haven’t slept in days. And as upset as I am about how things have started between us, as long as I’ve known you, I’ve _never_ seen you this messed up. So I’m worried. And I think this is something that goes beyond typical teen angst. I think you need to get an adult involved.”

Ms. Albright’s name pops up in his head, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I’m really sorry you’ve gotten swept up in all of this,” Victor says and stands. “I…I’m so sorry, Benji. The timing is just so bad, and my dad said—”

“ _Fuck what your dad says_ ,” Benji says, raising his voice uncharacteristically. He jumps up from his own chair and Victor stops in his tracks. “He can come kick the crap out of me for all I care! It’s not going to change how I feel about you, Victor, and it’s not going to change the fact that everything they’re telling you is bullshit. Look, my parents have been a little bit weird about it since I came out, but they don’t believe I’m going to hell just because I’m _different_. That’s absolutely insane.”

Bitterly, Victor wonders who’s brainwashed. Is it Benji? Is it him? Simon? Everybody in his life is so sure that they’re steering him in the right direction, but they can’t _all_ be right.

“Look, Victor,” Benji says, lifting his hand as if to reach out but letting it fall back to his side. “How would you feel about another impromptu escape?”

“What do you mean?”

“My aunt has this beach house on Tybee Island, and it’s supposed to be great weather this weekend. We could take a road trip, get away from all of this, sort through all of this shit and come back with clearer heads.”

Victor takes a step back. “You’re serious?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been nothing but shitty to you since all of this started, and you deserve so much better than that.”

Benji sighs and hangs his head for a moment. “You’re right, I do. I left Derek because of shit like this. But I know this isn’t who you are, not really. Even deep down, Derek and I weren’t good for each other. I don’t think the same is true here.”

“You’re giving me another chance?”

“Of course.”

“Do you really think it’s such a good idea, though? We haven’t even…gone on a real date or anything yet. And now you want us to take a weekend trip to the beach together?”

“I know it’s a lot. But I think it’ll be fun. Another road trip, right? And we can do it right this time. There are plenty of beds so we don’t have to share, and there’s no way we’ll see anybody we know there.”

Victor bites his bottom lip, glancing at the closed door to make sure nobody is watching. Something reverberates inside him, tells him to go, begs him not to, but he’s nodding and fighting a fluttering in his torso. “Okay,” he says, and then, a little bit stronger, “okay. I’m in.”

“You are?” Benji’s eyes light up, a flood of relief.

“I think a couple days away could do me some good.”

Benji exhales and leans over the desk. “Thank god. For a second there, I was so afraid this conversation was gonna go an entirely different direction. Are you sure you won’t be in too much trouble when you come back? How serious exactly was your dad about everything?”

Victor shrugs, tries to play it off. “He was probably just really emotional when he said all of that,” he lies. “My parents will be upset that I left without telling them, but I don’t really care how they feel right now. Clearly, they already hate me.”

“That’s not true,” Benji says softly, coming around the desk and grabbing Victor’s hand. They both look at the door; coast is still clear. “It’s just going to take some time for them to realize how messed up it is, what they’re doing. They’ll come around, though. They love you, so they’ll come around. They have to.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, not convinced but suddenly bathing in this fantasy of him and Benji on the beach, blissfully ignorant to their respective realities, just each other and the sun and blue water and the smell of sunblock. “Hey,” he says carefully, weighing his next words, “how important is it to you?”

Benji frowns slightly. “How important is what?”

“Your…sexuality,” Victor says, eyes locked on the shiny tile floor. “Like, do you think it’s a part of you?”

Benji smiles, understanding. “Sort of, yeah. It’s not all I am, of course. I’m also a musician. A Creekwood student. A damn good barista,” he adds, which makes Victor laugh. “All of those things sort of make up the composite of who I am, I guess. And they overlap, and sometimes it’s messy, sometimes it’s fun, but either way, I don’t think I would be Benji if I had to give up that part of myself. Any part, really.” His eyes flicker to the door again, then to Victor’s face, lips. “And I don’t think you should even consider giving up that part of you, not for a second. It’s yours to explore, to define, to figure out how it interacts with all of the other parts of you that exist. But it’s real, Victor. It’s real.”

“It’s real,” Victor whispers, feeling a bit lightheaded, brain fogged over by the validating bliss of Benji’s words. “This is real.”

“Exactly,” Benji says.

Victor pries his eyes from the tile and looks into Benji’s. “Prove it.”

“Here?”

Victor laughs through his nose, which is less than an inch from Benji’s. “I don’t care right now. I’ve been an idiot and I haven’t kissed you in a week.”

Given this permission Benji wastes no further time, pulling Victor into a quick, chaste kiss, the kind that makes Victor’s heart spasm, leap, clear whatever hurdles were set before it. They pull away from each other quickly, eyes still locked, lips shiny.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Benji says, “and come back Sunday night. Just two days.”

“That’s more than enough,” Victor says, a kind of levity suddenly flowing through him.

Benji looks at the clocks and curses. “Lunch period’s almost over. What are you doing after school?”

“I have work.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Victor says with a sly smile. “If you’re not careful, Sarah’s gonna slap an apron on you and drag you behind the counter.”

“Let her. It just means I’ll get to look at you up close for a couple hours.”

Victor blushes. “Shut up,” he says, and Benji laughs.

“See you later,” he says, and with a peck on the cheek, Benji exits the classroom.

Victor sighs and leans back against a desk, head still spinning. He pulls out his phone.

**_Victor_** _: Hey, Simon, it’s Victor. I just read your message (obviously, I’m texting you, lol). I’m sorry to worry you like I did. Honestly, this whole week has been absolutely terrible. I sort of shut down and almost ruined things with Benji. The therapy sucks and I’m really confused about a lot of things right now, but Benji and I are taking a beach trip this weekend, so maybe things will be better after that? IDK. I just wanted to say thanks for being so cool and helpful all the time. I think a lot of people in your position would’ve just blocked me. [1:04 PM]_

Victor sends the text, a smile crossing his tingling lips. Screw the Church, and screw religion. If every kiss with Benji feels like that, Victor believes it’s the only prayer he’ll ever need, the only salvation he’ll ever want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least there's something to look forward to in the next chapter! I really hope Victor's mindset isn't too confusing or unrealistic in how back and forth it is, I'm really trying to illustrate the fact that he's young and still v impressionable, and there are so many ideas being thrown at him that it's almost impossible for him to think for himself right now. IDK. I really struggle with character development so let me know what y'all think ;-;


	5. Celestial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CELESTIAL; _adj_. — pertaining to the spiritual or invisible heaven; heavenly; divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late, have been getting back into the swing of things. Very happy with how this one turned out though. I just got home from a week-long vacation at the beach so it also really brought me back. Lots of recent real life inspo in this one, and finally a chapter that's more fluffy than angsty!! It's called balance :-) Enjoy!!
> 
> (Also, forgive me for inserting so many lyrics. Beach trips always just make me think of music lol)

**_Benji_** _: I’m outside. You ready to go? [5:33 AM]_

Victor grins at his phone, its glow the only source of illumination in his still-dark room.

**_Victor_** _: Be right out! :) [5:33 AM]_

They’d discussed the plan over Victor’s shift the evening before. Leave before six, arrive around ten, stay overnight and come back by Sunday night. A solid thirty-six hours away from Atlanta, away from Victor’s parents, and away from the chaos the world has become in the last two weeks of his life. He’s been awake for almost an hour now; he’d been unable to get a good night’s sleep with the thrill of leaving coursing under his skin.

Victor shoulders his duffle bag and slips his phone into his pocket. Before he even leaves his room he presses up to the door, listening for signs of life outside. The coast is clear, so he slowly pushes it open and creeps out. He’s almost reached the front door when someone clears their throat behind him.

He slaps a hand to his mouth to tamp down a yelp of surprise. It’s Pilar, her arms crossed and eyes dark.

“Pilar,” he says, smiling into a sigh. “I thought you were—”

“So, what? You’re running away now?” she says, not bothering to keep her voice down. “I heard you throwing a bag together. Very subtle.”

Victor shushes her and steps away from the front door, raising his hands to pacify her. “Look, I’m just going on a trip, okay? Mom and Dad _can’t_ find out, or I’m literally dead.”

Pilar looks at him for a second, eyes narrowed, then reaches to turn on a light. Victor grabs her arm and shakes his head violently.

“Look, come out into the hall with me. I’ll explain, I promise. But if they wake up—”

From their parents’ bedroom, Victor’s father coughs and his blood goes Arctic.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs.

Pilar huffs but follows him out the door regardless. Victor turns to her, palms sweating.

“So. I’m going to the beach with, um, Benji. We’re sort of…”

Pilar’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, Victor. _Benji_?”

“You know him?”

“Uh, yes? Who doesn’t know who Benji Campbell is? Pause—” she says, closing her eyes and waving her arms in front of her. “Is he the one who you cheated on Mia with?”

Victor sighs and blinks a few times, a hand coming up to his forehead. “Yes, it was him. Then Mom and Dad found out about us and they told me I’m not allowed to see him anymore.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Victor, the nearest beach is, like, over three hours away.”

“Right. That’s the thing. I won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

She scoffs and turns around, throwing up her arms in disbelief. “And you’re expecting them not to flip the fuck out?”

“Can you cover for me? Don’t tell them where I really am obviously, just let them know I’m not dead and I’ll be back?”

Pilar whips back around, eyes sharp, incredulous. “You’re disappearing at five in the morning and I’m just supposed to _cover_ for you? Have you met our parents, Victor?”

“I’ll be in your debt for literally forever. Felix already has a cover story prepared, too, you can talk to him. Please, Pilar. I just—I really can’t be here right now,” he says, voice breaking. His bottom lip starts to tremble like he’s a little kid, but knowing that Pilar is the only thing between him and Benji’s car—his way out—makes his stomach threaten to collapse on itself.

For a second, everything is quiet save for the creaks and moans of the old building. “Chores for a week,” she says and looks down at the nails of her left hand.

“I…what?”

“Do my chores for a week.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“Two weeks!”

“Fine! Fine,” Victor says, more quietly. “I’ll do your chores for two weeks.”

“ _And_.”

“And?”

“Next time there’s a big party…you get me in.”

Victor sighs. “What makes you think I can do that?”

“If Benji’s your boyfriend—”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him that yet—”

“—then there’s no way you don’t have the necessary connections.”

“Since when did you even go to parties?”

“Will you do it or not?” she says, reaching for the door.

Victor steps forward, shoulders tensed. “Yes! Fine! I’ll get you into a stupid party,” he says, voice a hoarse whisper.

She pauses, considers the offer on the table, then shrugs. “Okay.”

Before Victor can even thank her, Pilar is back inside and he’s left alone in the hallway, the darkness beating like a heart around him. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and shakes out his hands, not thrilled about the close call. Still, maybe it’ll work out in his favor that Pilar is on his side. Even if it does come at a cost.

**_Benji_** _: Everything ok? [5:41 AM]_

Victor doesn’t bother to answer, just hurries down the stairs and out the door. The air is cool, the late April morning enveloping him like clean linen. The sky is pitch purple, hinting at dawn, and a car sits at the curb, headlights cutting a path through the dark. Victor is glad he decided to wear his jacket—the one Simon had given him in New York—but knows he probably won’t need it later.

Benji sits inside, eyes locked on his phone, brows knit together. Victor can’t help but smile when he sees him; he knocks gently on the window and Benji almost drops his phone. He laughs and rolls the passenger window down.

“Sorry to bother you,” Victor says, “but would you be kind enough to give me a ride?”

Benji looks him up and down. “And what’s a guy cute as yourself doing all alone in the dark?”

“Waiting for a stranger like you to take me away, I guess.”

They lock eyes and Victor could drop through the ground and fall, just keep falling. Even though his feet remain grounded, he has the sense that he could be falling forever.

Benji unlocks the car so Victor can toss his bag in the back and climb into the passenger seat. The click of the door shutting seems to reverberate up and down the street and Victor can’t help but glance up at the windows, waiting for a light to come on.

“Hey,” Benji says and grabs his hand. “You’re good. I’ve got you.”

Victor turns to him, Benji’s eyes shimmering even in the low light. “Yeah,” he says. “I know. Pilar promised to cover for me.”

Benji frowns. “That wasn’t part of the plan. It was just supposed to be Felix.”

“I know,” Victor says quickly, “but she caught me on my way out, and I think it might work out better this way. Another alibi, right?”

“Did she extort the hell out of you?”

Victor cringes. “Chores for two weeks. And you have to get her in to the next big party.”

“Me?”

“Basketball season is over. Until the Fall, I basically have no social pull.”

“And _I_ do?”

Victor gives Benji an admonishing look and jerks the rearview mirror toward him. “First of all, you made second place on that stupid list Lake posted, so that alone is a ticket in. Plus, you’re like, the only out gay kid at Creekwood right now. People love you. You're an icon, or whatever.”

“Okay, fine,” Benji says with a laugh. He fixes his mirror and smooths his hair down. “Can we go now?”

Victor leans over and plants a kiss on Benji’s cheek. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Benji shifts the car into drive and is about to accelerate away, but stops suddenly.

“I forgot, I made a playlist for us.”

Victor grins. Of course Benji has a playlist. Benji plugs his phone into a cord that enters the car below the radio controls. He hits play and an all-too-familiar melody bleeds out through the car speakers.

_I threw a wish in the well, don’t ask me I’ll never tell, I looked to you as it fell, and now you’re in my way._

Something warm and dynamic fills Victor’s chest and he can’t help but laugh. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did,” Benji says with a wink as he pulls away from the curb and sets the car in motion toward ecstasy. The boys sing along with abandon, their voices almost drowned out as Benji cranks the volume to maximum. By the time they reach the final chorus of _Before you came into my life I missed you so bad, and you should know that, I missed you so, so bad_ , the sky burns orange and pink, sun crashing up past the tree line and dragging with it a new day.

When the songs ends Benji turns the music back down to a reasonable volume and looks to Victor, slightly breathless, a smile slicing his face from ear to ear. “Hey, you can sing.”

Victor flushes red; he’s glad when Benji’s eyes return to the road. “Yeah, sort of. My mom forced me to sing in our church choir when I was little.”

Benji hums along to the opening notes of the next song, something Victor doesn’t recognize, and drums his fingers on the wheel. He keeps looking back and forth between the windshield and Victor.

“What?” Victor asks.

“Nothing,” Benji says. “I’m just really glad we’re doing this.”

“Yeah,” Victor says with a little laugh. “Me, too.”

* * *

The rest of the drive passes like a dream, the kind of cloudy vision that hits during a slow afternoon nap. Victor lets himself get lost in Benji’s music, singing like he wouldn’t with anybody else, unable to wrench his eyes away from Benji’s face. Unable to look at him for too long or it starts to hurt.

They’ve picked a gorgeous day to embark; as they head southeast, the sky breaks open into a brilliant cobalt expanse. It’s nice being together, not even talking, just immersed in song and the suggestion of summer. Victor tries so hard not to think too far ahead, knowing that what awaits him when he returns home is nothing but turbulence. But he can’t help but imagine a summer with Benji, drives to the beach, late nights at Brasstown, new music that will always remind Victor of sun-bleached days and star-littered nights.

Maybe it’s an unrealistic hope given what’s going on at home. But the mere possibility of it is so tantalizing that Victor feels like he might float away if he doesn’t hang onto it.

Thinking of what’s going on at home, Victor checks his phone.

**_Felix_** _: You know, I really hate communicating without the walkies. It feels so…modern. [8:35 AM]_

**_Victor_** _: If the signal reached this far I wouldn’t be texting you right now bud. [8:35 AM]_

**_Felix_** _: Makes me feel a little better, I’ll admit. Have fun today! Take pictures! I’m jealous >:( [8:37 AM]_

Victor chuckles at his phone and locks it, determined to be present with Benji.

Sometime in the third hour, a song comes on that has a strange, droning intro. Benji sucks in a big breath of recognition, the car filling with a dark swelling that tips over into a brooding voice.

_The drink you spilled all over me_

_"Lover’s Spit" left on repeat_

_My mom and dad let me stay home_

_It drives you crazy getting old_

Benji doesn’t sing along, but he mouths the words as the song continues to build. The lyrics catch at Victor’s heart, pulling him into a strange nostalgia for experiences he’s never had. They both sit in awe as the song hits a climax, a frantic, pulsing rhythm that conjures something from deep within and makes Victor want to stick his head out the window and scream.

_You’re the only friend I need_

_Sharing beds like little kids_

_And laughing 'til our ribs get tough_

_But that will never be enough_

These lyrics repeat and Victor closes his eyes, the outro of the song washing over him.

“Wow,” he breaths. “What was that?”

Benji turns to him and scoffs, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re kidding. You don’t know Lorde?”

Victor wrinkles his nose. “I’ve heard Royals,” he says defensively.

With a swift motion, Benji turns the music all the way down. “This is absolutely unacceptable. On the way home, I am playing her _entire_ discography and we’re gonna cry together.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Trust me, crying to Lorde’s music is a spiritual experience. That was Ribs, by the way. It’s like, the quintessential teen angst anthem.”

Victor chuckles. He’s not sure he needs to invite more of those feelings into his life; they’ve already let themselves in, unannounced and unwelcome. “Does she have happy songs too?”

“Oh, sure. A lot of her stuff is upbeat with a cool nostalgic twist. You’ll see.”

“Okay,” Victor says with a little smile. If Benji is this excited about it, then it must be good.

“For now, though, let’s do something a little more fun,” Benji says and turns the music back up. They fly onto a bridge as the next song starts, one that’s vaguely familiar to Victor. The voice jumps out at him and he realizes: Carly Rae Jepsen again.

_Late night watching television_

_But how’d we get in this position?_

_It’s way too soon, I know this isn’t love_

_But I need to tell you something_

_I really, really, really, really, really, really like you_

_And I want you, do you want me, do you want me too?_

Victor recognizes the song as the chorus hits and he sings along, laughing as Benji rolls both the windows down. Salty air pours in through the windows; they’re surrounded on both sides by crystal blue water, diamonds of light pinging off the surface as gentle waves catch sun rays.

Benji is practically screaming the lyrics and he turns to Victor, poking him in the arm every time Carly sings “really.” Victor swats at his hand as his heart bobs up and down like a buoy. The call of seagulls mixes in with the 80s-style synths of the song, with the dramatic percussion hits that boom through Victor’s bones and make him come fully into his own body for what feels like the first time since Spring Fling.

This is what things are supposed to feel like, Victor decides. Sapphire skies, pop music blasting, Benji prodding Victor to make sure he knows just how much he likes him. Something swells in him, cresting over his head and sending him spinning. _It’s way too soon, I know this isn’t love. But I need to tell you something_.

Victor smiles and takes a deep breath. The wind ruffles his hair. He locks eyes with Benji, a stray thought blotting out the sun in his mind, casting a shadow of doubt. _How could this be sinful?_ he wonders. _I’ve never felt anything so pure._

Soon enough, they’re off the bridge, the island rising up to greet them. The beaches are dotted with people; even for April, Victor is surprised to see beachgoers. He looks at the clock and sees it’s only just past nine o’clock. Briny breeze whips through the car, coming to a more gentle ripple as they leave the main road and turn into a more residential area.

The houses are beautiful, worn in the way all good beach houses should be. Some of the exterior colors would be questionable under normal circumstances, but knowing the shore isn’t far somehow justifies the teals, the coral pinks, the sandy yellows that stand out against the more typical creams and whites. Victor tries to capture everything in his mind as they drive but it rushes by so quickly, a blur of sandy drives and porches, bikers, wooden structures that hold kayaks, the rough brush that’s been allowed to flourish unchecked.

After a few turns, they’re on a street that runs parallel with the beach, the only thing between them and the water a row of houses. Finally, Benji pulls into an open driveway and Victor finds himself breathless. Growing up in Texas, his family had never really been to the beach. It wasn’t unrealistically far by any means, but his father had never particularly enjoyed the beach as a destination, and his parents had assured Victor and Pilar that there was plenty to do nearby to keep them occupied (which often just involved babysitting Adrian).

But this…this house is gorgeous. A two story townhouse with a pinkish-brown roof, Victor can see even from the outside how spacious and warm the inside is.

Benji turns off the car and turns to him. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Victor huffs an astounded laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Let’s bring our stuff inside. I can give you a little tour, and then we can go down to the beach.”

Before he can respond, Victor’s stomach growls. Benji laughs.

“We never really ate breakfast, did we?”

“No, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Okay, after I show you around, you can go get changed into a bathing suit and I’ll make us something.”

Victor grins. “Perfect.”

* * *

The inside of the house boasts a shocking amount of white wicker furniture, much of it accented by blue, beachy patterns of shells and flowers. It’s really much too big a house for the two of them to be staying in; there are five bedrooms total, a simple but functional-looking kitchen, and a screened porch off the living room that faces out to the water. Greenery circles the foundation of the house, a few low palms peeping up into view from the porch.

“Wow,” Victor breathes. It’s a temperate day, mid-seventies with a constant breeze. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore is audible even from the porch.

Benji comes up behind Victor and wraps his arms around his waist. Victor takes in a sharp breath, then relaxes into his touch. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s okay,” Benji says. “I should’ve asked first. Does it bother you when I touch you like that?”

Victor shakes his head and pulls Beni’s arms tighter around his midsection to make his point. “No, not at all. It’s just…it’s still just new, you know?”

“Completely,” Benji says, his chin on Victor’s shoulder. “But if I ever do something that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me. Just because we’re…well, I just mean that neither of us is ever entitled to something from the other, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Victor says. He turns slightly and swings his arm over Benji’s head, around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. “You know, I’m new to the whole ‘gay’ thing, but not dating in general.” And while Benji does have a year on Victor, he's fairly certain Derek was the first relationship Benji ever had.

Benji goes a little pink. “Right, yeah. Sorry. I don’t want to sound condescending. But one of the problems that I had with…” He clears his throat. “I just really like to emphasize how important it is to communicate.” He smiles, but there’s tension in his voice.

Victor pushes away slightly, just so he can get a better angle to kiss Benji. A sea gust drifts up into the porch as their lips connect. It’s surreal, being here with Benji, alone in this house, away from the rest of the world. Nobody will find them here, nobody can try to tell them what to be, how to feel, what’s right.

That’s all up for them to decide.

* * *

By noon, they’ve claimed a spot on the beach, just beyond the point where the waves kiss the sand. The tide is almost at its highest, the sun approaching apex, smell of sunblock hanging in the air. Lucky for them, this stretch of beach is reserved for residents. Nobody else is around: just Victor, Benji, and a multicolored umbrella.

Benji really had thought of everything. Somehow, he’d had enough time to pick up some groceries (maybe at a 24-hour store), so he was able to make some eggs and toast for a light breakfast. Now, they’re lounging in beach chairs, sipping pink lemonade and basking in what little shade the umbrella provides. A waterproof speaker sits between them in the sand, _Emoji of a Wave_ by John Mayer underscoring the ambience.

Benji stands suddenly and removes his sunglasses, tossing them onto his chair.

Victor sits up, squinting in the brightness. “Going somewhere?”

“I think I’m gonna go in the water,” he says with a sly grin.

Victor frowns. “Won’t the ocean be freezing this time of year?”

Benji shrugs. “Maybe. There’s only one way to find out.” Without another word, Benji peels off his shirt and drops it onto his chair to join his shades.

Mouth suddenly dry, Victor tries not to stare. Benji tilts his chin down and smiles. “Like what you see?” he jokes.

Of course he does. Benji’s all slim frame, solid shoulders that taper to a toned waist, fair, smooth skin with a small patch of hair on his chest.

“You’re _allowed_ to look, you know,” he adds, his smile fraying slightly when Victor doesn’t respond.

Poignant words echo in his head: _in order to comply with God and stand in his grace, you have to make the choice not to act on sinful desires_. Victor shakes these words, putting up a barrier to bounce them away.

“I know,” Victor says. “And…I do like what I see,” he says, suddenly very warm.

Benji bites his lip and nods. “You coming?” He extends a hand to Victor with a glance at the gleaming water.

Victor stands, more opinions from Dr. Russo buzzing around his head like gnats. “Well, I’m not just gonna sit here and watch you have all the fun.” He removes his own shirt and rolls his eyes when Benji whistles.

“When he’s an athlete,” Benji says and pretends to swoon, the back of a hand pressed against his forehead.

“Which means I can probably outrun you,” Victor says and breaks into a dash toward the water. It isn’t far but it feels like the world slows down as Benji runs alongside him, grabbing Victor’s wrist and pulling him into the waves when they hit water’s edge.

Victor laughs and then gasps as frigid water rushes over him, a wave crashing at his waist and spraying up over his shoulders.

Benji throws himself under the water entirely, surrendering to the cold. He stays under for a second, two seconds, and Victor actually starts to worry that the coldness of the water has frozen him.

But then Benji emerges from the sea, throwing his head back as he breaches the surface, droplets flung high as his hair swings through the blue. He brushes water away from his eyes and smiles at Victor, teeth visibly chattering. “See? It’s not even that bad.”

Gripped by emotion, Victor endures the brunt of another wave and reaches for Benji, pulling him tight and kissing him, cool skin against skin, swells breaking at their hips. Up on the shore, _Sister Christian_ by Night Ranger blares from Benji’s speaker and Victor laughs against his lips.

“My mom loves this song,” he says as Benji hugs him, shivering. “It makes me feel like we’re in some cheesy eighties movie, though.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Benji asks, voice trembling from cold. “They all have happy endings.” He smiles up at Victor, hair slicked back and eyes lit up by the sun.

With a little kiss on the tip of his nose, Victor chuckles. “Yeah. They do.” He rests his forehead against Benji’s, his own muscles contracting against the chill. “Can we get out of the water now? It’s less fun by the second.”

“Agreed,” Benji says with a strained laugh. They wade out of the tide together, fingers tangled. A warm wind carries across the sand, welcome reprieve from the crisp ocean.

Back under the umbrella, Benji fumbles with his towel and wraps it around his shoulders, still shaking. Victor can’t help but laugh as he moves his chair out of the shade and into the sun.

Once cocooned by a towel, Victor moves his own chair next to Benji’s and pulls out his phone.

**_Simon_** _: A beach trip sounds fun! Did you have to drive far for that? Tell Benji I say hello :) [12:24 PM]_

He looks over to Benji, who’s making a concerned face at his own phone.

“Simon says hi,” Victor says with a little grin.

Benji quirks an eyebrow. “Tell him “hi” back,” he says, a slight edge in his voice. His fingers tap furiously, distracted by something.

“What?” Victor says, leaning in closer.

“I said to say—”

“No, I heard what you said. It was more the way you said it.”

Benji sighs and turns his phone over. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t know. Part of me is sort of jealous, honestly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, I hate that I’m about to bring up Derek, but it’ll only make sense if I do.”

Victor swallows a sandy lump in his throat.

“When we were together, there were a couple of guys that Derek claimed were just friends. You know, other musicians in the area, all of them gay, all of them a little bit older. He always justified talking to them by telling me that he was trying to find his place in the community or whatever, find some role models, but…”

“Benji.”

Benji looks at him, eyes clouded.

“This is _not_ like that. First of all, Simon has a boyfriend.”

This earns him a short, sardonic little laugh from Benji. “That doesn’t always mean a red light for either party.”

“All right, but that’s not the point. Simon is…sort of like an older brother to me, I think? He’s helped me through so much. But I _definitely_ don’t think of him that way. Even if you take out the fact that he’s in college and also taken, I just don’t see him like that.” He reaches out and encircles Benji’s wrist with his fingers. “Would I have come on a spontaneous beach trip with you if I didn’t really, really, _really_ like you?”

Benji laughs at the reference as his other hand comes to rest on top of Victor’s. “No. That’s a good point.”

“Exactly,” he says with an encouraging smile. “I’m not Derek.”

“Definitely not. I’m sorry I brought him up.”

Victor shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m not afraid of whatever happened in the past. Whatever this is will be so much better.”

“Yeah,” Benji says; he leans over and pecks Victor on the lips.

**_Victor_** _: Benji says hi back! [12:31 PM]_

As he’s about to put it away, his phone buzzes again.

**_Felix_** _: You’ve gotta look at Creek Secrets!!! Whoever’s hacking Lake has some seriously misguided theories on Mothman. (She’s currently in a rage, which is somehow really cute?) [12:33 PM]_

Oh boy. Victor opens his browser and navigates to Creek Secrets, chuckling to himself when he reads the headline.

_Mothman Not a Mutant Creature, but a Weremoth? Identity Speculation Within_

Victor shows Benji, who rolls his eyes. “I just don’t get why they’re doing this on Creek Secrets. It’s infamous for being unreliable and gossipy. If you’re trying to convince people that Mothman is in the suburbs of Atlanta, there are more dependable ways to do it.”

And then Benji launches into a rant about Mothman’s origin, which eventually veers into the topic of other cryptids. Victor sits and listens, enraptured; he’s never seen Benji like this before, so passionate about something so…well, pretty nerdy, in Victor’s opinion. He’s always seen Benji as immeasurably smooth and cool, so this is a side he never predicted. But he’s glad for it. The surprise is welcome.

By the time they’re hungry again, Victor has learned about not only Mothman, but also the Jersey Devil, the Chupacabra (“That one was originally sighted in Puerto Rico, by the way,”), and a less popular cryptid called the Honey Island Swamp Monster. Victor has the feeling that Benji possesses much more knowledge than he’s actually disclosed at this point, but the simultaneous roars from their midsections indicate that it’s time for lunch. Not that Victor wants Benji to stop talking. He could listen to him for hours.

The move back into the shade and eat lunch: PB&J sandwiches, which Benji had somehow made without Victor knowing. Victor can’t remember the last time he had one; the flavors are nostalgic and nothing short of perfect for a beach day. They argue about the best flavor of Doritos (Benji is team Cool Ranch but Victor knows that Spicy Sweet Chili is objectively the best)—it doesn’t matter what either of them thinks, though, since all Benji could find was classic Nacho Cheese.

After they come to agree that Nacho Cheese is undeniably delicious, Benji nods off, gleaming chest rising and falling. All the while, Simon is gently prodding Victor about the therapy session.

**_Simon_** _: Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? I’ve been doing some research, and if any of what I’ve found is being used to try to “treat” you, I’ll have to consider coming to Atlanta and kicking someone’s ass. [1:07 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: I appreciate it lol, but I think I’m gonna be ok. It’s all bullshit anyway. [1:08 PM]_

**_Simon_** _: Ok...I just don’t want this to be something that you internalize, Victor. I’m sorry to sound so preachy, but it can be really hard for people to unlearn harmful stuff like that. It would really make my heart hurt if you’ve gone through this whole journey of self discovery only to not fully accept that part of yourself. [1:11 PM]_

Victor sighs and puts his phone away. He’s lying to himself _and_ to Simon; even as the sun lifts drops of sweat from his skin, sitting next to Benji in paradise, there’s a place in Victor’s head that’s been roped off, a shriveled, monstrous place in his mind that he hopes to starve out, never have to visit. But it’s there. And it’s heavier than Victor had anticipated.

When Benji wakes up, he stretches his arms over his head and makes a little groaning noise in the back of his throat. Victor laughs and shifts in his seat so he’s more on his side, facing Benji.

“How long was I out?”

Victor hums. “An hour, maybe.”

“Oops,” Benji says. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Well, we’re spending time together and I fell asleep.”

Victor brushes some sand off the armrest of his chair. “It’s okay. I just like being here with you.”

“You’re too good, sometimes. You know that?”

Maybe it’s because the sun has just come out from behind a stray cloud, but Victor feels himself go hot. “Just telling the truth,” he says, averting his eyes.

“And that’s all I’ll ever ask,” Benji says. Victor meets his gaze and melts.

The day melts along with him. Victor and Benji bask in the shade and talk about anything and everything, food, music, their favorite shows, memories from childhood. Benji tells Victor about Creekwood gossip come and gone, about the drama from his first two years that Victor should feel lucky to have missed. Part of him wishes he hadn’t, if he’s honest. It’s not easy being the new kid, and he wonders what his life might look like if they’d always lived in Atlanta.

Or if they’d never left Texas.

“Hey. You okay?” Benji asks as the sun is just beginning to caress the vertices of roofs, shadows lengthened by the evening crashing over them.

Victor frowns. “Yeah. I was just thinking about my parents.”

“Ah.”

“I think I might hate them.” And himself, to a certain extent. He hasn't even told Benji that they're thinking about splitting up. But he doesn't want to soil this moment.

Benji takes in a breath, holds it for a second in consideration, then releases it and shakes his head a little. “That’s completely fair, but…”

Victor frowns at the “but,” feeling betrayed.

“Well, they’re still your _parents_ ,” Benji says.

“I guess,” Victor says and plays with the strings on his bathing suit.

“Just try to keep an open mind, okay? I know they’re putting you through some really shitty stuff, but they have to learn, too. It took my parents a little while to come around, remember?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t try to therapy the gay out of you in the meantime,” he says, unable to dull the double-edged blade of his voice. He draws back, sorry already. Benji gives him a sad look and Victor stands, blinks away tears.

He walks up to the edge of the ocean, foamy waves freezing his toes. Each push and pull drags away some of the sand until he’s buried up to his ankles. A tear drips from his chin and mingles with the salty water below. Golden hour has set in fast, the whole world cast in a resplendent glow.

Emotion eats a hole in Victor’s stomach like acid. He’s aware that Benji has joined him; he stands just a few feet back, over Victor’s right shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home,” Victor says, his voice breaking. He hangs his head and brings a hand to his face to cover his eyes. “I don’t think I can.”

Benji closes the distance between them and takes Victor’s free hand. He squeezes it and looks over the water; halcyon stars of reflected sun dance on the tips of the surf.

“We could stay,” Victor says through tears, already knowing that they can’t.

Benji sighs through his nose. “Running away isn’t going to fix any of the problems,” he says gently. “We got away for the weekend, but this isn’t reality. You know that, though.”

Victor nods.

“Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out, okay? Together.”

“How are we supposed to be together if I can’t even be brave enough to tell the world?”

Another squeeze of his fingers.

“That will come with time. And when you do, I’ll be right there beside you. Vic, look at me,” he murmurs, giving Victor’s arm a small tug. Victor rotates to face him, chest constricting to see tears in Benji’s eyes, too. “I’m going to make an oath to you right now. I swear on this sunset that you’re going to get through the rest of this semester, and in the summer, we’ll come back and see the sunset again. Maybe we’ll even bring friends next time.”

Victor smiles even as another tear trickles across his cheek. Benji reaches up to brush it away. “Can you even swear on a sunset?”

“We wish on stars all the time” Benji argues. “But I don’t want to wish, Victor. I want to _promise_.”

“Okay,” Victor says. He kisses Benji, lips warm, his hair impressively disturbed from the sea breeze. “I promise, too.”

“Good,” Benji whispers, forehead resting against Victor’s chin. “Can I ask you something I’ve been dying to ask since Spring Fling?”

Victor’s heart is a cyclone, his pulse a storm. “Of course,” he says, voice mostly breath.

Benji looks up at him. The sentence bursts from his lips like glittering confetti. “Will you be my boyfriend?” His cheeks match the cotton pink of the sky, eyes absorbing all of the citrusy oranges and yellows.

Victor’s inner world gradiates with the sky, a spread of emotions from peace to utter turmoil. He licks his lips, heart catching at the yearning on Benji’s face.

“Of course I will,” he says, kissing Benji again. The evening is getting cold, the wind picking up, threatening to lift them off their feet as they tangle their lips. Victor wishes he could bottle this levity, a glass case stoppered with a sunset swear to return. Maybe someday, he can kiss Benji like this anywhere he wants.

When they finally separate, both boys are shivering again.

“So. We’re boyfriends,” Victor says, feeling dumb as soon as the words leave his mouth.

They both laugh and Benji nods. “That’s us!”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“I’m aware.”

“That means you have a very important role.”

“And I intend to fulfill it to the best of my abilities.”

“Good,” Victor says and kisses his boyfriend’s cheek. Benji’s heartbeat is almost as fast as his, tangible in the pads of his fingers. The sun’s descent has left the world hazy, chilly; Benji pulls Victor back up the beach so they can gather their belongings and head back inside.

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Benji says, voice small. “Believe it or not, I needed a weekend to get away as much as you did.”

Victor frowns and folds up his chair, shaking off the sand. “What for?”

Benji collapses the umbrella and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. Derek has been…harassing me, sort of.”

“What?” Victor says and drops his chair, almost crushing his left big toe. He bends to retrieve the dropped item.

“It’s nothing serious,” Benji says hastily. “He was always protective. Or possessive. I guess it depends how you look at it. But he’s been texting me constantly since we broke up.”

That explains Benji’s strange behavior earlier, why he’d been scowling at his phone when Victor entered his car.

“He’s not _threatening_ you, is he?”

“God, no, nothing like _that_. He’s just being really annoying.”

“He wants to get back together,” Victor guesses.

Benji pauses. Then, “Yeah. He does.”

“Does he know about us?”

As he pulls his shirt back over his head, Benji makes a dissenting noise. “I haven’t told him. I think it’ll make things worse if he finds out that I’ve…moved on so quickly.”

Victor hums. “Probably. Does it bother _you_ at all?”

Benji blinks at him. “Like, that we got together so fast?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, making himself busy with his own shirt and gathering up the little cooler Benji brought down from the house. Benji takes a few seconds before he answers, which makes Victor’s nerves jump.

“It’s like I told you, Victor. Things were already off with us. Half the time when we were together, I just ended up feeling like absolute shit. Like I couldn’t even be myself, because it was an inconvenience to him or something. Derek _never_ came to the beach with me. Our relationship spanned a whole summer but he was always busy, always had some excuse, and a couple times he just straight up said he didn’t want to come. He never wanted to do anything unless it was his idea.”

“I’m so sorry, Benji,” Victor says.

Benji waves him off. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I’m just—Victor, you’re everything he’s not. And sometimes I don’t even know how to deal with that. It almost seems…”

“Too good to be true?” Benji won’t meet his eye so Victor tilts his head up at the canvas of the sky, pastel colors spilled and running together.

“Maybe.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Please,” Benji says, a plea breaking on his tone.

Victor presses his lips together and shifts his weight from foot to foot, unsure where the desire to spill his guts has come from. _Where to start?_

“I’m scared of how much I like you, Benji.”

Benji finally looks at him, brows close together, mouth tight.

“And that’s why this has been so hard. Because you make me feel like someday, things might be okay. That _I_ might be okay. That this part of me could be something good. Sometimes I’m afraid that when I wake up…you’ll be gone. Like I made you up the whole time or something. It doesn’t make sense to me that someone like you could exist, let alone want to be my _boyfriend_ ,” he says with an amazed chuckle. “I just don’t get it.”

Benji shakes his head, smile moving in to replace his concern. He cups Victor’s cheek. “But I _am_ real, Victor. And I want this as much as you do. It shouldn’t scare you, it should make you happy.”

“I didn’t mean I’m not happy—”

“I know. But you have to let yourself feel, Victor. Just because it’s scary to be vulnerable doesn’t mean you should close yourself off. One of the things I like most about you is how open you are about what you’re feeling.”

Victor sighs. “My entire relationship with Mia says otherwise.”

“That was a tricky circumstance. It’s good that you’re sorry, but please don’t beat yourself up over it. It hurts me to see you hurting.”

Those words are like slices up his arms. Victor deposits his belongings back in the sand and pulls Benji into a hug, even despite the umbrella under his arm.

“I never want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Benji returns the embrace and chuckles as he pushes away. “You don’t understand, Victor. You don’t have to apologize. If we’re going to be together, we have to carry each other’s pain. I’m fully prepared for that, because it means that we get to share so much more. I just meant I don’t want to see you suffering without good reason.”

Victor stares at him, in awe that someone so young can seem so wise.

“Can we go inside now?” Benji asks, front teeth catching on his bottom lip as his eyes bore into Victor’s soul. “It’s really starting to get cold.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, a strange violet peace washing over him. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Dinner is pizza from Benji’s favorite local joint. It’s not like any pizza Victor has ever had; the crust is thick and doughy, almost like a soft bread beneath the sauce and cheese. They both shower while they wait for it to be delivered, changing into sweatpants and baggy shirts and cuddling up on the couch.

While they eat, Benji forces Victor to watch Rupaul’s Drag Race for the first time, which he says any self-respecting homosexual has to at least _try_ to enjoy. Benji concedes that it’s not for everyone, but that refusing to watch might mean missing out on something incredible. Apparently, the second season of All Stars is one of the best starting points for new fans and is widely regarded as a top tier season. Victor is completely lost for much of it, the lingo and the jokes mostly going over his head, but it’s entertaining enough watching Benji giggle and quote along with the queens.

After a few episodes, Benji decides it’ll be more fun to blast some music and dance around on the porch. He chooses another Carly Rae Jepsen bop, _Now That I Found You_. Victor knows it, though not well, so he lets his body do the singing. In the yellow wash of the porch light, Benji grabs both of his hands and pulls Victor around like the tide, spinning him and laughing even louder than the music.

_Don’t give it up, don’t say it hurts_

_‘Cause there’s nothing like this feeling, baby_

_Now that I found you_

When the song ends, they collapse onto one of the wicker porch chairs in a fit of giggles, Victor poking Benji in the ribs and watching his feet flail. Once they calm down and Benji wipes the tears out of his eyes, he curls up against Victor and kisses him on the cheek.

“You really have a knack for choosing the right song, you know that?” Victor says.

Benji grins. “I’ve been told.” Out of nowhere, he procures a polaroid camera and wiggles it in front of Victor’s face. “Can you take a picture of us? Your arms are longer.”

Victor takes the camera from him and extends his arm, massive grin burgeoning on his face as Benji kisses his cheek and the flash pops. There’s a whir as the picture prints and Benji snatches it from the camera, face jubilant.

 _How is it that every single moment with you can be so special?_ Victor wonders. It’s not late but his eyelids are already starting to droop, a yawn hijacking his body for a moment. Benji pokes Victor’s cheek.

“We should probably get some sleep soon. The early morning is catching up.”

“Hey, at least you had a nap.”

“You could’ve slept if you wanted to!”

“I had to keep watch. Just in case Mothman followed us.”

“Shut up,” Benji says with a snort and gently smacks Victor’s chest. “Mothman would hate the beach anyway.”

“He’s missing out.”

“Definitely.”

“I do think it’s bedtime, though,” Victor says sheepishly.

Benji pushes away from him and perches on the arm of the chair, long lashes fluttering. “We still have tomorrow, don’t forget.”

“Exactly,” Victor says and reaches up to push back Benji’s hair, still damp from his shower. It feels so natural, just reaching out and touching like this. He’s never been so comfortable being physical with another person; something about being near Benji constantly compels him to open up, to extend, to unfold.

“All right. Bed time, then.”

They’ve both selected their own rooms on the second floor, the two rooms facing the sea. The moon hangs like a beacon over the water, a cone of silver light billowing across the black surface. Victor’s room is first. They pause at the door and look at each other for a moment, the wind whistling outside.

“Goodnight,” Benji says and pushes up to kiss Victor.

“Night,” Victor responds when they part. He watches as Benji pads down the remainder of the hall, hesitates outside his own door and looks back. With a crooked grin, Benji turns on the light and disappears, closing the door behind him.

Victor leans back against the frame of his door, sinking slightly and exhaling.

He shuts his door. Suddenly not tired, Victor remembers that his room opens out to a small deck. The door shushes as he pulls it open, salty wind greeting him. The night is cool; he wraps his arms around himself and turns his head skyward. Despite passing clouds, the stars are striking. The only constellation he knows is the Big Dipper, but he finds it right away, twinkling ladle in the sky.

A mystifying emotion spills and spreads in his torso, drowning his lungs. He looks at the sky with wonder, the rattle of palm leaves and gentle crash of waves at the water’s edge a natural lullaby. Victor shivers and rubs his arms; the sensation makes him more aware of his body, of the fact that he’s taking up space, existing unapologetically. There will be apologies tomorrow, he knows. Apologies and screaming and muscle fibers straining under the stress of it all, but for now, he has this moment of clarity, of seeing the near-full moon and feeling like it sees him in return.

When the wind starts to become unbearable, Victor heaves a deep breath and tries to capture the moment in his memory. Maybe he’ll never remember it the way it really was. Memory has a way of doing that, of twisting to fit the narrative we seek to create in our lives. But this exact pinprick of time is unsullied, pure. It just _is_.

Victor removes his shirt—an XL he’d stolen from the Brasstown storeroom for nights exactly like this one—and crawls into bed. Even with the door closed he can hear the waves in the distance, rocking his ears to sleep.

As he’s drifting off, Victor jolts at a gentle knock at his door. He looks around in the royal blue darkness, everything tinged a shade of deep turquoise from moonbeams ricocheting off the ocean. Once he’s sure his heart hasn’t stopped beating, he flings off the covers and opens his door.

Benji looks adorable, if a bit apologetic. Like Victor, he’s sporting only a pair of sweatpants. Mostly, he just looks _real_. With the filter of their beach day stripped away, there’s a soft vulnerability to the way his skin is stained navy by the night.

“I, um…I can’t sleep,” he whispers, as if there’s anyone else around to hear.

“Me either,” Victor lies.

“You know, it’s just a big house and it…feels kinda weird to be sleeping alone.”

Part of Victor wonders if it’s too soon to share a bed. Another part reminds him that it wouldn’t even be the first time if they do. He turns over his hand and offers it to Benji. “Plenty of room in here.”

Benji’s bashful smile breaks into a more confident one. “Are you sure?”

Honestly, Victor is terrified. But the prospect of Benji falling asleep beside him outweighs that.

“I’m sure. But I call little spoon.”

Benji chuckles and nods. “Works for me.”

Victor pulls him in and shuts the door. Kisses him once, quick and chaste. “Um…you don’t want to…”

“ _Oh_. Oh, my god, no! It’s _way_ too soon for that. I wasn’t even thinking about it,” Benji says, eyes wide. “And even if I wanted to, I would never pressure you or anything. You know that right? I just,” he says and licks his lips, looks down at the floor. “I just felt like it was a waste not to fall asleep next to you.”

Victor nods. “Let’s go to bed, then.”

The mattress stretches like a vast desert beneath them as they slip under the sheet, Benji’s chest flush with Victor’s back, bare skin warm and dry on bare skin. Benji brings one arm over Victor’s waist.

“Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Victor whispers, and before he knows it they’re breathing in sync, in time with the crests beating the sand, the moon coaxing them into sleep.


	6. Kairosclerosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KAIROSCLEROSIS; _n_. — the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! Wow, the response to the last chapter is the biggest I've received on any chapter of fic in a WHILE, and it feels so good to know so many people are enjoying :,) So, as a gift, I decided to add in some more light fluff to the beginning of this chapter until things get a bit heavier. I'm not quite sure if what I'm trying to convey with Victor's character is coming across, so let me know what you think of his inner struggle and all of that.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Also, check the endnotes for a couple of fun lil extra things that I hope y'all will enjoy! <3

When Victor is shaken awake his first instinct is to panic.

He sucks in a high-pitched breath and his arms jerk to cover his face, every vein shot through with adrenaline. Not recognizing his surroundings doesn’t help the rush, but then he looks to the right and sees that it’s Benji who’s woken him, his faint outline carved out of the darkness.

“Sorry,” Benji whispers, eyes wide with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Everything rushes back: the beach, dancing on the porch, sleeping with Benji curled up against his back. It takes a moment but his body releases and Victor flops backward, bouncing off a pillow. “It’s okay,” he breathes.

“I thought you might want to watch the sunrise with me.”

Victor picks up his head and squints in the direction of the windows. Sure enough, sherbet-pink light has begun a gradual crawl above the waterline. “Oh. Yeah, I’d love that,” he says.

Even in the pre-dawn gloom, Benji looks like he might have stepped out of a dream. His hair is a disaster (which Victor can’t help but find adorable) and a small touch of sunburn has settled in on his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his shoulders.

Victor clambers out of bed and takes Benji’s outstretched hand. Together, they move to the porch attached to their room, standing barefoot and shirtless in the chilly morning. Victor can feel Benji’s heartbeat in his fingers, steady, sure as the tide. When the orb of the sun pierces the horizon, Benji abandons Victor’s hand and settles with an arm around his waist instead. Neither of them speak. Words would only sully the moment.

For fifteen minutes, the world is sublime, stretching out before the couple like a familiar road, one that leads home.

“Are you also cold?” Victor eventually asks, breaking the silence. As soon as the perfect illusion shatters, he can’t ignore the small twisted feeling in his gut, the anxiety of having escaped only to face an inevitable return.

Benji laughs but nods, squeezing Victor together. “Freezing. Back inside?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second.”

With a kiss on Victor’s bare shoulder, Benji turns and enters the room they’d shared. Victor leans up against the railing, unable to stop the blissful smile that splits his face. It’s the same sky he’d seen the night before, painted different colors by the encroaching ascent of the sun, but the world feels somehow different.

After a few minutes Victor heads back inside, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm frigid skin. It’s definitely not summer. Not just yet.

Benji is sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone. Victor plops down next to him. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

With a shrug, Benji deposits his phone on the nightstand. “I didn’t have anything specific in mind. There’s an incredible breakfast place in town that I think we should hit up, and then after that… Another beach day? Ooh, _mini golf_!”

Victor laughs. “I haven’t played mini golf since I was a kid.”

“You still _are_ a kid,” Benji argues. He tilts his head downward and raises his eyebrows. “It’s dinosaur themed,” he says in a sing-song tone. “And the ones inside glow in the dark.”

“Why the hell didn’t you lead with that? I’m _in_.”

Benji laughs and rises. “Perfect. The breakfast place opens in thirty minutes or so, so we can just chill until then.”

“Awesome,” Victor says. Benji traipses out of the room and Victor does _not_ stare as he leaves (except for the fact that he absolutely does). Then, he stands and goes into his bag, pulling out a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush. In the bathroom he hums to himself idly as he goes about his morning routine, trying to ignore the small pit of anxiety that’s copulating and expanding in his stomach. He’s here with Benji now. Whatever comes later will come.

Once dressed, Victor descends the stairs to find Benji still in his pajama bottoms, whistling along to a quiet song playing through his speaker.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he says, which could honestly be about either of them.

“Well, yesterday was already perfect and we still have a whole day today. Can you blame me?”

“Were you planning on putting clothes on?”

Benji frowns and looks down at himself. “What, is this not appropriate for public dining?” he jokes.

“No shirt, no shoes, I think is the rule.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Benji says. He passes Victor to climb the stairs, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as he goes. Maybe it’s stupid to be thinking so far ahead, but Victor envisions a lifetime of slow mornings, tender nights, kisses on cheeks and finger bones intertwined. He’s never wanted something so much in his life.

While Benji gets ready, Victor unlocks his own phone for his morning update. A few text messages await him. For one, he’d never answered Simon, but he’d been planning to wait until they’re on their way back to Atlanta to get into any of that. He can’t bear to think about it yet. Aside from this, he has one from Pilar, which is initially alarming.

**_PP Head_** _: What time are u coming back? Mom n Dad still think ur at Felix’s but there’s no way they won’t think to check in on u at least. Also, there’s a pile of dishes in the sink for you :) [7:02 AM]_

Victor takes a deep breath. Luckily, despite his parents wanting to keep a closer eye on him lately, they trust Felix (to a certain extent). She has a point, though.

**_Victor_** _: I’m not sure yet. It’ll probably be late tho. Also, frick your dishes!! [7:47 AM]_

He also has yet another update from the night before from Felix regarding Creek Secrets. He doesn’t read the full message and instead opens the site; yet another article has been posted.

_Is Mothman Even Real? Years of Folklore Suggest…Maybe_

Interesting. This doesn’t feel like the same person who’s been posting the other articles. They had been so sure that Mothman was afoot, and this person is clearly trying to undermine that. Sure enough, Victor resists Felix’s message and reads until the end.

**_Felix_** _: Dude, ANOTHER Mothman article. Lake’s gone absolutely bonkers. She keeps threatening to call her lawyer, and honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has one. [1:23 AM]_

**_Felix_** _: Get this though. I think this is a different poster. The content is like anti-Mothman, and there’s no way the original person would’ve switched up like that. [1:23 AM]_

**_Felix_** _: Holy shit. What if Lake’s info somehow got out? How else would people be casually adding shit to Creek Secrets???? [1:27 AM]_

Despite not being too emotionally invested in the whole situation, Victor does have to admit that things have taken a bit of a turn. If it’s true that someone got a hold of Lake’s personal information and is spreading it, her whole brand could come tumbling down. Which would be basically nuclear.

“Okey dokey, we ready to rock?” Benji says, twirling his keys around his fingers as he comes down the stairs.

Victor snorts. “You did _not_ just say okey dokey.”

“I was just trying something out,” Benji says, sounding wounded, but he smiles anyway. “I guess I’ll leave that one for the dads?”

“Good idea. Nobody under forty should be allowed anywhere near that phrase.”

They exit the house and hop in Benji’s car, all the way arguing about which phrases are only appropriate for dads to use. Some of Benji’s are absolutely ridiculous, and as they pull into the parking lot of a cute little place called _Marnie’s_ , Victor concludes that the categories need to be further qualified into white dads and dads of color, because his dad would _never_ say most of this stuff. Benji can’t speak from his experience but concedes regardless.

Once inside, Victor is pleased to find that they’re the first customers of the day. The restaurant is small and quaint, all peeling pastels and pictures of local regulars on the walls. A perky young hostess seats them at a booth and keeps smiling at them knowingly, which makes Victor’s cheeks burn. He orders something classic: a short stack of pancakes with a side of bacon. Benji goes for something a little bit classier and asks for Eggs Benedict, which Victor has never tried.

“This is nice,” Victor says once they put in their order and are left to their lemon waters.

Benji smiles around his plastic straw. “Yeah. In the summers, my whole family likes to come and pack into two booths. It’s always an interesting meal with the Campbell clan.”

“How many of you are there usually?” Victor asks. There are only four bedrooms in the house, so he can’t imagine there are more than eight of them.

“Well, there’s me and my parents. My mom’s older sister—she’s the one who owns the house—is divorced, but she has two kids. And her younger brother and his wife have a newborn baby, but she’s never been to the beach, obviously. Sometimes my mom’s parents come, too, but we don’t typically count on them being here.”

Victor does the math in his head. Benji must see the gears turning, because he laughs and then clarifies. “We always have to inflate an air mattress, sometimes two. My cousins and I used to drag them out onto the porch to make a mega-bed when the weather was nice enough. We sort of outgrew that, though.”

“That’s a shame,” Victor says and takes a sip of his water. “Sounds like fun to me.”

“Yeah. It was. Both of her kids are in college, though, and I think they’re sort of in a weird phase of avoiding me because I’m a lame high schooler or something.”

“Their loss. You’re probably way too cool for them anyway.”

Benji laughs, a self-deprecating sort of huff, and before he can respond their waitress—Missy is her name—is setting down steaming plates in front of them. Victor’s mouth waters, a large pat of butter half melted on top of his pancakes. “Thank you,” he says, fixated on the food.

Missy laughs and brushes off her hands. “Of course, honey. Do y’all need anything else?” Her accent is much more Southern than what Victor is accustomed to hearing around Atlanta. Even in Texas, there hadn’t been a heavy accent like people assume there might be.

“No, I think we’re good for now, thanks.” Benji says with an appreciative smile.

She nods. “Not a problem, sugar. Just give a holler if you need.” Missy leaves them to their food.

Victor wastes no time; he grabs the container of syrup from the edge of the table and applies a sensible amount to his pancakes. Then, he snatches up his knife and cuts a moderate triangle, ensuring that all three layers are present before shoving it into his mouth. The moan that comes out of him is completely involuntary, and he’s so lost in how good it tastes that he doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

“Holy shit,” Victor says. “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

Benji nods, his own mouth full of egg and English muffin. He grins, cheeks round. A tiny bit of sauce is perched at the corner of his mouth, which makes Victor want to reach over and wipe it off for him. He refrains, electing instead to point to his own mouth to make Benji aware. In response, Benji just takes another large bite.

“It can wait,” he says cheerfully after he’s swallowed.

And so they eat in near silence, all of their attention devoted to their respective breakfasts. Victor intends on leaving some leftover to take with, but even with the side of bacon (which is perfectly crispy) he finds himself popping the last bite of pancakes into his mouth less than ten minutes later. He sits back, head rolling onto the top of the seat behind him. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Me neither,” Benji says and pats his stomach. “Marnie’s just hits different.”

After a few moments of digestion and conversation, they finish their waters and go to pay the bill. Benji insists, but Victor refuses—Benji is the one who drove them down and bought all the groceries, so this is just about the last Victor can do in return. They say their thank yous to Sarah and the other staff members and exit the building.

As he slides into Benji’s passenger seat, Victor receives another text from Felix.

**_Felix_** _: Hi. So. Um. You might want to come home soon. : < [8:57 AM]_

Victor’s heart drops like a boulder. Without hesitation he presses the little icon next to Felix’s name and holds his phone to his ear. Felix picks up after the first ring.

“Hey, buddy! How is everything?”

“Felix. What’s going on.”

“Pfft, nothing serious, don’t worry! It’s just…your mom just came and knocked on my door to ask where you are.”

“Are you serious?” Victor all but yells, alarming Benji at the wheel. “Sorry,” he mutters. Benji pulls out of the parking lot, crunch of gravel below them, a look of worry on his face.

“It’s fine! I told her you had to take an emergency opening shift at Brasstown, which she bought without question.”

Victor smacks a hand to his forehead. “Felix. It’s Sunday. We don’t open until ten on Sunday.”

“Hmm. Eek. Okay, good to know for the future, I guess?”

Still, Victor takes a deep breath. His mother doesn’t know that, and it’s highly unlikely that she’ll come to actually check that he’s there. Until recently, he’s never given his parents much reason not to trust him.

“Look, thanks for the help,” Victor says, reining in his anxiety. “I guess we should head back, though, just in case.”

“Yeah, probably. Hey! Good news, though! Lake told me that Mia told _her_ that she might consider speaking to you again soon! Isn’t that great news?”

Victor’s eyes flutter in frustration. “Yeah, Felix, that’s awesome. Look, can we talk a little later? Benji and I have to figure out what we’re doing.”

“Right, of course, not a problem. God, I can’t wait until you’re back and I can use my walkie talkie again. How am I supposed to know when you’re done talking if I don’t hear a beep and a burst of static?”

Despite the stress of the moment, Victor smiles. “You free tonight? We can hang for real just to convince my parents we were together all weekend.”

There’s a pause. “I would love nothing more,” Felix says, sounding genuinely touched to Victor’s surprise.

“All right, I’ll text you when I get back. See you later.”

“Bye, Victor. _HI BENJI_ ,” he shouts. Victor winces and pulls the phone away, releasing a little “ah” of pain.

Benji chuckles and leans over slightly. “Hey, Felix!”

When Victor returns the phone to his ear, Felix is letting out a sort of satisfied sigh. “That guy is just the coolest. Okay. Later!” He hangs up.

Victor takes a second to steady himself, disappointment already kicking in.

“What happened? It’s not bad, is it?” Benji asks as he flips on his turn signal.

Victor props his elbow on the window ledge and rests his head against his fist. “No, not yet,” he says. “My mom went next door to check with Felix, so he lied and said I had to take an emergency open at Brasstown.”

“Mm,” Benji says with a nod. “So we should probably leave, then,” he says, tone weighted.

“I’m so sorry, Benji,” Victor says and turns toward him. “It sort of ruins the weekend, I know.”

Benji just smiles. “The weekend is _not_ ruined. We still have a four hour car ride together. Plus, all this means is we _have_ to come back to play dino mini golf. I see that as a win,” he says, but Victor isn’t totally convinced that he isn’t upset. Just because they didn’t have concrete plans doesn’t mean their day isn’t being stolen from them.

“You’re really raring to get your ass kicked at mini golf, huh?”

Benji’s mouth forms an O and he chuckles. “Oh, okay, so suddenly you’re a mini golf master. This is coming from mister ‘I haven’t played mini golf since I was a kid.’”

“Yeah, but I always won,” Victor says and leans in teasingly.

Not taking his eyes off the road, Benji pats Victor’s left cheek. “You’re on, cutie. No holding back.”

Victor nearly implodes at how casually the pet name slips out, then leans back as they pull into the driveway. Benji sighs. “At least we got to go to Marnie’s. I’ve been craving it for weeks.”

The next few minutes are sad, slightly frantic. Victor gathers all of his belongings, scanning the house thoroughly to ensure he doesn’t leave anything. Benji is rushing around and putting things back in order. His aunt knows he’s using the house, but he feels bad leaving it in any condition less than perfect. There’s no time to wash their sheets or pillowcases, so Benji leaves a note letting her know. Victor peers at it, eyes narrowed.

“But you didn’t actually sleep in your bed at all.”

Benji sighs. “Right. But I’d rather not let her know that.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense,” Victor says and pulls his bag up on his shoulder. One last time, they step out onto the porch and inhale the salty zephyr that darts past, close their eyes and soak in the symphony of crashing waves and screeching birds.

“Remember,” Benji says and squeezes Victor’s hand, “I swore on that sunset. We’ll be back. _Soon_.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

* * *

The drive back from vacation is never quite as fun as the trip there, but Victor still manages to enjoy himself. As promised, Benji introduces Victor to Lorde’s entire musical catalog, including a few singles she recorded for movies. They start with her debut album, which Victor enjoys, but things really get interesting when they get into Melodrama. Victor totally understands what Benji loves so much about her stuff; there’s an oddly incisive nostalgia about her music, especially for someone so young. Even the more upbeat tracks are peppered with bittersweetness.

One that stands out to Victor is called Liability. The production is simple, largely vocals and piano, but the lyrics are so bleak that it almost feels like a personal attack.

_They’re gonna watch me disappear into the sun_

_You’re all gonna watch me disappear into the sun_

“Geez,” Victor mutters as the song ends, an innominate gravity settling in over his chest.

Benji nods and clears his throat. “Definitely one reserved for sad boy hours. Don’t worry, though. There’s a reprise later in the album that has a much more positive outlook.”

Things lighten up marginally after Liability, and once they hit Supercut Victor is jamming again, the song constructing a whole movie in his mind. It just seems so happy and sentimental, and while he’s not paying a whole lot of attention to the lyrics, the chorus gets stuck in his head. As the song fades out, Benji’s phone starts to ring over the car speakers, cutting into the music.

“Shit,” he mutters. “It’s my mom. Just…please don’t say anything, okay?”

Victor frowns but nods as Benji answers the call.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Honey, where are you? Your father just told me you never came home last night.”

Oh. So he’d asked his aunt to borrow the house, but Benji hadn’t told his parents where he was going.

“I’m driving, Ma. I’ll be home soon.”

Not completely true. They still have a little over an hour to go.

“Benjamin, you need to tell me this instant what’s going on.”

He sighs and his eyes flit sideways to Victor, but he very pointedly returns them to the road. “Can I explain when I get home? I really need to focus on driving right now,” he says, his tone indicating that this is a conversation he really doesn’t want to be having. There are layers Victor doesn’t understand, until he remembers Benji’s accident.

Benji’s mom sighs, a sound that crackles through the car. “We are going to have a _serious_ talk when you get back. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I don’t like it. Ever since you started spending time with that Derek boy, you’ve become someone I don’t recognize. And we had to fight so hard to get your suspension revoked. I don't like that you're not telling us everything.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Benji says, jaw set, shoulders tensed. “I told you, I’m not seeing Derek anymore,” he says, deflecting away from her second point.

“It doesn’t matter, I still think he was a bad influence. You know, my friend Charlene has a daughter your age who’s single, and I really think it would be nice for you to at least give it—”

Benji reaches down and ends the call, lashes sparkling wet in the sun. Victor wants to say something but has no idea what words would even suffice in this moment, so he keeps his mouth shut. The music doesn’t turn back on, so for nearly ten minutes they drive in complete silence, Benji’s knuckles stark white on the wheel.

“Benji,” Victor eventually murmurs.

He just shakes his head. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. She’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

All right, so they’re not going to talk about it. Fair enough; Victor has plenty closet skeletons of his own, and Benji has never once pressured him into dragging them out into the light.

Benji turns on the radio, teary eyes locked on the road. Something bass-heavy and generic comes through the speakers, the volume turned down almost all the way. Victor’s stomach turns over when he sees their exit on the highway. A magical weekend is shattering into jagged shards around them.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow your shirt?” Victor asks as they jet off the highway. “If I come home without it, my parents will be suspicious.”

“Of course,” Benji says. He’s mellowed considerably in the last hour. “We’ll stop by my place first and I’ll run in and get it.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring it with me to school tomorrow.”

The conversation dies out again and Victor can’t shake the feeling that they’re driving straight into disaster. He’s already proven to himself that he can be with Benji and feel fulfilled, feel normal, but what if they only work when they’re waist deep in a modern-day fairytale? Life isn’t all sunsets and polaroids on the porch. He wonders if it’s possible that they’ve set themselves up with expectations that Atlanta can never meet, if somehow Tybee Island is their peak.

Benji’s face drains of color when they pull up to the curb of his house. “I’m gonna be a couple minutes, okay? I’ll have to deal with my parents.” He hops out, leaving the driver side door open, and jogs up to his front step.

When Benji disappears inside, Victor realizes he’d never answered Simon’s text. He rereads Simon’s text from the previous day and starts to formulate a response, judgement no longer clouded by the shimmering veil of crystal beach skies. As he reads, all of the events of the previous week seem to rush back in, Dr. Russo’s words booming in his skull like bombshells. Without Benji directly next to him Victor is a bunch of balloons cut free, floating toward a sparking power line.

**_Simon_** _: I just don’t want this to be something that you internalize, Victor. I’m sorry to sound so preachy, but it can be really hard for people to unlearn harmful stuff like that. It would really make my heart hurt if you’ve gone through this whole journey of self discovery only to not fully accept that part of yourself. [1:11 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: You’re right. I’ve been trying super hard not to think about any of it, but I feel a little bit like I’m going crazy. [1:43 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: Simon…what if they’re right? [1:43 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: I’m sorry, that’s probably a really shitty thing to say. I don’t know. My family has always been super religious and I just can’t help but wonder if what they think is true. Do you think that’s possible? [1:44 PM]_

Simon responds almost immediately.

**_Simon_** _: Whoah, slow down. This is exactly what I’m talking about. Victor, since when was the Catholic Church the supreme source of morality for every single person in the world? Just because they believe it’s not the will of “God” or whatever doesn’t mean they’re right, even if they think they’re the one true religion or whatever. I’m not really religious myself, but why would any god make you gay and then punish you for it? [1:46 PM]_

Victor considers that, his eyes wet with tears. It’s a fair point, but there are _so_ many people who are convinced otherwise. He tries to think of what to say next, but his train of thought has completely deteriorated and all he can think about is the consequences of his actions, if he’s already fucked himself forever, if somehow being with Benji has damned him. Benji, who is so sweet, and caring, and genuine, and supportive.

He locks his phone and grips it tightly, squeezing his eyes shut to block the tear flow. _I never asked for this. I don’t_ want _to be this_ , he thinks, even as Benji emerges from his house with a windblown smile on his face. The sight of him suddenly makes Victor feel ill, like somehow Benji is responsible for solar system of turmoil rocketing through Victor’s head at thousands of miles per hour. _I wish I could just be normal_. And then, worst of all, _I wish we never met_.

“Well, my mom’s probably gonna lecture me for the next hour, but I’ve had worse.” Benji says as he comes around the car, smile faltering at the sight of Victor. “Victor? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Victor lies and dries his face. “Just…sad to be back so soon, I guess.”

Benji gives him a sympathetic look and lowers himself into his seat, tossing the shirt into Victor’s lap. “Yeah. Me too. But hey, only a month left of school. Then we have a whole summer to ourselves,” he says, reaching out to rub the back of Victor’s neck. When Victor doesn’t respond, Benji removes his hand. “No, seriously. What’s going on?”

Victor shrugs, frustrated that a fresh wave of tears impinges. “Nothing,” he repeats.

Benji pauses, frowns, then leans away. “Okay,” he says evenly. “I guess I should get you home.” He starts the car, closes the door, and pulls away from the curb. Victor trains his eyes on the sideview mirror, wishing he could sink inside and run backward forever.

* * *

Victor pushes open his door with a shaking hand, Brasstown shirt pulled hastily over his other shirt. His duffel bag has been tucked safely inside at Felix’s; he’ll come back to retrieve it when he knows the coast is clear.

His parents’ voices are already audible from outside. They don’t even notice when he enters; his mother in the kitchen and his father in the hallway, both of them agitated. They’re arguing in Spanish, too, which is never a good sign.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to continue, Armando!” she yells, her hands flying upward in exasperation. “Who knows what that man even said to him after we left the room?”

He’s immediately taken aback and slinks into the other hallway, unseen, back pressed flush with the wall. He tries to control his breathing as his father retorts.

“He’s a professional. Even if his methods aren’t exactly what we expected, why should that matter if the end results are the same?”

“Because that’s our _son_! That’s my baby,” she says, her voice breaking. Victor forces his eyes shut, the break like a switchblade in his spine. “What if we’re just hurting him?”

A pause.

“I don’t care if it hurts. He’s tough, Isabel. If we don’t address this now, it will be too late.”

“Too late— _too late_?” she cries. “What do you mean? He is who he is, regardless of whether or not you like it!”

“And what about the money? Hm? Even with you teaching lessons again, we’ve hit a serious wall because of this therapy.”

“It doesn’t matter. The money’s spent, oh well! We move on and try something different!”

Victor clutches his chest, heart like a thrashing animal.

“What can _we_ do? He won’t listen to us!”

“But you must realize why that is. We aren’t listening to _him_ , Armando. I know this is all new to us, but…I don’t know, what if we’re wrong? The world has changed!”

His father slams an open hand against the wall. “ _We are not the ones who are wrong_ ,” he roars. Another pause. He speaks again, voice more controlled. “He’s confused, following some disgusting fad. He’s young! It’s not his fault he’s impressionable! But it’s our job as parents to set him back on the right path. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, who’s been putting ideas in your head, but _that_ is not something we will allow freely in this house. Not while I’m here.”

“Then maybe it’s time you leave,” she says, switching to English. Victor’s knees almost give out. “That is my son. My first child, the love of my _life_. I would do anything for him, understand me? _Anything_. If that means removing you from the equation, so be it.” She’s crying but her voice is even, assured. Victor has never heard her so tenacious.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve given into perversion given everything you’ve done.”

“And I shouldn’t be surprised that your first instinct is to try to mentally beat our son into the man you think he’s supposed to be. That didn’t work for you last time, did it, Armando?”

Victor almost laughs, he’s so surprised she’s said it.

“I’m not leaving,” his father says, warning in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. He is just as much my son as he is yours, and that means I have a say in what he does, who he becomes. Somehow, somewhere, I have failed as a father. I was too soft, maybe. I showed him too much love. Leaving now will only doom him forever.”

“Or it could save his life,” his mother says in a strangled whisper. “This isn’t because of something you _did_ , or didn’t do. Do you hear how selfish you’re being? Try to think about him for just one second.”

“I refuse to fail as a father.”

“If you stay, I think you’ll find that’s exactly where you end up.”

Victor clenches his fists, sweat pooling at his lower back, in his collarbones.

“I will pray for you,” his father says. “That you will be saved, even though you are so brashly choosing the path of sin.”

Victor feels nauseous at the hypocrisy. Though his family has always been religious, his father has never been so openly attached to his faith, and he’s _never_ spoken like some kind of Evangelical pastor convincing a congregation that they’re damned. Only when it comes to this does he break out this lofty language, this holier-than-thou narrative. It makes Victor sick.

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats, and then he storms into their room, slamming the door behind him.

At last, Victor’s mother breaks, sobs claiming her body as she leans against the kitchen counter. Victor peers around the corner, knowing he gives himself away if he goes to comfort her. But he can’t stand to see her so damaged, so fragmentary, so he abandons his hiding post.

“ _Mami_ ,” he says, voice wavering.

Her head snaps up, eyes puffy and red. She hastily wipes at her eyes and smooths down her shirt, faking a smile, trying to make it look like nothing’s wrong.

“Victor! You’re home, how was work—”

“ _Mami_ , please,” he says, shaking his head and taking a step closer. “I heard it. I heard all of it.”

She presses her lips together, then bends nearly in half, body shaking with silent rasps. Victor rushes into the kitchen and crouches next to her, envelops her in a hug. “I don’t know what to do,” she says between wails, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I’m so sorry,” Victor cries. “This is all my fault.”

He wishes she would deny this but she just keeps crying until she finally rights herself and shakes out her arms. She turns to Victor. “Listen to me, _mi amor_. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. And I still don’t know how to feel about everything, about you being…you know. But I need you to know that I love you more than anything in this whole world,” she says and takes his face in her hands. Though her face is soaked with tears, she smiles. “You are so special to me, Victor. I don’t think you even know what you mean to me. I would be lost without you,” she says with a watery laugh.

“I’m sorry for—” Victor says, shame erupting in him, “I’m sorry for being this. I wish I could make it go away.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, baby, no, no, come here,” she says, and though Victor is taller than her she pulls him to her chest, rests her chin on top of his head. “I…have been doing some reading. Research. If this really is you, you can’t turn it off, _mijo_ , no matter how hard you try.”

Victor blinks away tears. “I—I don’t understand. I thought you didn’t approve of it.”

She sighs and runs a hand through his hair, allowing him to stand tall again. “Victor, I want to be completely honest with you from now on, _always_. I still don’t know exactly how I feel. But I do know that I love you, and I have never seen you as unhappy as in the last week. Nothing hurts me more than that. Will it take me some time to get used to the idea? Yes, of course. But I think it could be something I eventually come to understand better.”

“But…” Victor says, feeling like he’s five years old, stupid question blossoming off his tongue, “what if I really do go to hell?”

She shakes her head. “ _El Diablo_ will have to answer to me himself if he thinks he’s taking you. You are good Victor, so, so good.”

He manages a smile and nods, wishing he felt better knowing his mother is seeing things closer to his way.

“What about Dad?”

Victor’s mother sighs and crosses her arms. “I’m not sure. Emotions are running high right now, but I don’t know if he’s going to come around so easily.”

 _Or at all_ , Victor thinks.

“I love your father, Victor. I know you do, too. But I wonder if it might be better not to have him around right now, regardless of what he thinks about all of this.”

Victor shrugs. Even if his father does leave, he can’t shake the feeling that his beliefs will linger like scorned ghosts.

“Ah, well,” she says. “We’ll deal with things as they come, right? That’s all we can do. And Victor, could you do we a favor and not tell Adrian about this just yet?” she asks, like she's regretful of the question. Victor feels a double edged sword pressing against his throat. She's still ashamed. "He's just so young, and I think it may confuse him."

He nods. "Sure, Mom. I won't bring it up to him."

She hugs him again and kisses his cheek. “Life is strange, Victor, and so precious. I just want to see you happy. If this is what makes you happy, we’ll find a way to manage, okay?”

“Okay,” Victor says. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Always, my love. How was work? How was your weekend with Felix? Tell me everything,” she says.

Guilt manages to wedge its way into the already broad spectrum of emotions occupying Victor’s abdomen. “It was fine. If it’s okay, I think I’d just like to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” she says, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he says, then retires to his room.

* * *

Benji’s tried to call him twice. Both times, Victor let the call ring, and ring, and ring, and didn’t answer.

He’s lying in bed, limbs sprawled, head pounding. After his conversation with his mom he should feel so much better. So why does he only feel worse?

 _Krrt!_ “Felix to Victor. Over.”

His walkie talkie is just out of reach; Victor grunts and sits up, grabbing the device. “Hey, Felix. What’s up? Over.”

“You still wanna hang tonight? I got my homework done early just for you! Over.”

A jag of remorse. “Felix, I’m really sorry. I don’t think I’m feeling up to it. Maybe tomorrow?”

There’s a pause. Victor can’t even bring himself to say “over.”

“Oh. Well, I have to work on a stupid group project after school tomorrow. Over,” he says, the disappointment tangible through Victor’s speaker box.

“Lunch, then?”

“Yeah, sure. See you then. Over and out.” And the line goes silent.

Victor looks at the walkie and is overcome by a sudden wave of rage; he screams and chucks the device at his wall. It makes a small dent then thuds to the floor, unharmed.

**_PP Head_** _: What the shit was that? Also, u never did the dishes… [5:23 PM]_

Victor ignores the message.

He’d challenged himself the night before he left for the beach, a personal pact, one he’s been avoiding the conclusion of. Twenty-four hours. He gave himself a whole day to pretend none of the bad stuff had ever happened, just to be happy and see what life could be like.

And he’d almost fooled himself, too. A rousing performance from Victor Salazar. Not even his best effort combined with Benji’s romantic endeavors had been enough to make the deformed beast inside him uncurl and remove its claws from his heart.

Even if his mother could come to love every part of him, even if his father disappeared and took with him every disapproving word, even if Mia could be his friend again, if Benji could sleep by his side, Victor can’t ignore that all of the bad eventually catches up. Even after a four hour drive away from his problems, they had hit him during unexpected moments, jabbing and catching at chinks in hurriedly assembled armor. No matter where he goes, the misery seems to follow, and not just for him. His agony radiates outward, marking everyone in his path. And the faster he runs, the faster it seems to spread.

**_Simon_** _: I’m sorry if I upset you. I’m just trying to help. If you want to talk about it, please don’t hesitate. [5:36 PM]_

Numb, floating, Victor wonders how he’s ever supposed to love the part of himself that does nothing but sap away at his happiness. Maybe he should accept now that he’s doomed to hurt the people in his life, corrupted beyond recognition. He’s carrying a swirling black hole; it’s only a matter of time before he gives in, lets go, and disappears.


	7. Chronic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHRONIC; _adj_. — constant; habitual; inveterate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. The angst is definitely starting to hit its ascent. The next couple of chapters are going to be rough, but what's a fanfic without some overblown angst?? Enjoy!! :)

The rain’s broken out of nowhere, fat drops that barrage the windshield and drown out the sound of the world.

Victor and Benji are nearly oblivious to this, pressed up against each other in the backseat, lips fused and hands wandering. They’ve agreed that staying fully clothed is what they’re comfortable with for now, and Victor is grateful for that. He’s not sure if he would survive any less fabric between them.

He kisses Benji hungrily, chilled oasis after a weeklong dessert journey. Aside from the heavy patter of rain, the only sound is lips colliding, pulling apart, little grunts and puffs of air through their noses. Benji looks gorgeous all laid out in the back, cheeks ruddy, hair disheveled and pupils shot through with desire.

As Victor pulls away, yellow light speckles Benji’s face, the dim glow of the parking lot dappled by globules of rain that gather on the windows and drip, drip, drip. Benji reaches up to touch Victor’s face, his lips pink and shiny.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he says with caution.

Victor clears his throat and sits back on Benji’s legs. He twists his neck and looks out the windshield, wishing Benji hadn’t brought it up at all.

“Does it have to be now?” Victor asks, his head still sibilating with the sensation of Benji’s mouth on his.

Benji props himself up on his elbows and cocks his head. “I think it should be.”

A week has passed since their trip to Tybee Island and the shift in Victor has apparently been noticeable. He’s been at the end of his temper, irritable and non-communicative, even after he promised Benji he would be honest with him about everything. An unanswered text from Simon haunts him from inside his phone, the blue “unread” dot some kind of drawn out bereavement. Because all Simon’s ever done is help, and all Victor’s ever done is take that for granted, upset Simon, dump his issues in Simon’s lap and hope for the best.

Felix has been avoiding Victor, which hurts the most. But Victor deserves it. After he blew him off Sunday night, Felix’s demeanor and priorities have been abundantly clear. He spends most of his time with Lake and Mia, and because Victor is too afraid to confront the truth and explain to Felix the maelstrom in his mind, he elects instead to suffer from afar. Benji offers every day to sit with him at lunch but Victor knows how it will look.

It will look like the truth. And he’s not ready to see that himself, let alone have everybody else perceiving it.

Not only that, but Victor has edited his schedule at Brasstown, taking on absurd hours in order to avoid working side by side with Benji. There have been a few new hires in the last month but Victor hasn’t bothered to commit their names to memory, relies on name tags and the hope that they care as little as he does.

And his father. His damn father. A sketch of a man, the mere shadow of one, no substance. He can’t look Victor in the eye, can’t even bear to be in the same room. Being at home is standing in the eye of a quickly enclosing storm. And while his mother had been courageous during their last altercation, she has to walk around their home on a high wire dusted with glass. Meals are tense and silent. Adrian has left the table crying twice this week because nobody would speak, hardly even to answer him, and something hideous is crawling its way from Victor’s inside out, knowing that if it weren’t for him, his father would be gone and they might be able to breathe.

So he’s shirked off most of his schoolwork. He moves robotically through his days, going through the motions, playing the cheerful barista at work, coming home and falling into fits of unrestful sleep, his walkie talkie silent, his head deafening. Even is his mother is willing to put in the work to love this part of him, she can never do it with his father around. Which is why he wishes he could sharpen his claws, dig them deep into his abdomen, and wrench this out of himself, flailing and naked.

But _this_. Victor ignores Benji’s suggestion that they talk and dives in for another kiss. In this, Victor’s brain shuts off, the cacophony of hellish voices tamped down; all he can hear is the trickle of water off the car’s roof, the little sounds issuing from the back of Benji’s throat.

With a grunt, Benji places his hands on Victor’s chest and pushes, firm but gentle. “ _Vic_ ,” he warns.

“What?” Victor asks, disappointed. He licks his lips and sits back again.

Benji pulls his legs in as he sits up, his back against the door. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not?” he asks desperately. When he kisses Benji like this all he knows is his body, Benji’s body, hot breath and slick tongues and the heat in his stomach.

“Because you’re pushing away and shutting down. I’m enabling you. And I refuse to be that person.”

Victor blinks, furrows his brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about it.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to see the problem when you’re inside it,” Benji admits. “Trust me, I know. But you’re…You’re blocking out all of the feelings, Victor. I didn’t fully realize it until tonight, I think.”

This is the third illicit meeting they’ve had this week, the third late night text from Victor about how much he needs someone to soften his edges with strong, adept hands.

“You’ve been basically ignoring me all week, unless it’s to ask me to come pick you up and whisk you away from your house. And I come without question, because…” he trails off and runs both hands through his hair, straightening out the mess some. “Because you don’t deserve to feel as alone as you look, I guess.”

Victor sits back on his own feet, his shoulders slumped. The white noise of the rain fills up the space between them, rich and lush.

“It’s not healthy,” Benji continues with discretion. “And I recognize this kind of behavior, because it’s the same problem I had with alcohol. The problem I _have_.”

“This is _not_ the same,” Victor says fiercely, but Benji just nods sadly.

“Think about it, Vic. You hit a low and have me swing by, just to get you through for an hour. And then you go home and you crash, and you probably tell yourself you don’t even need me to feel good. But here we are again. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you changed your hours. That you won’t talk to me. All we do is…this,” he says with a vague gesture.

A tear spills down Victor’s cheek and he stares at the upholstery between them, unable to look at Benji.

“I keep thinking, ‘This time will be different,’ you know? Maybe you’ll tell me how you’re feeling and we’ll talk it through and make it better, even by just a little bit. But we have to stop, Victor. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

The words knock Victor against the wall of the backseat, bullets colliding with a vest not thick enough to protect him from their brunt. Benji deserves someone whole, someone who isn’t just trying to dive into his lips to elude harsh reality. But there’s one thing that seizes the shallow wound of a dull blade in Victor’s side and deepens it, twisting the knife. In all of this, Benji has been nothing but selfless, pouring himself out and out and out, never once asking for anything in return. He’s been the warm body, the strong hands, even when that’s the sole thing Victor need from him, even _knowing_ that.

“Benji,” he whispers, a salty taste filling his mouth as another tear drips from his eyes and past his lips. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, his face grim in the dim glow. “I know. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Victor nods, his face scrunched in anguish as he hangs his head. His hands twist in his lap.

“Please,” Benji pleads and shifts forward. “Just talk to me. That’s all I’m asking. I want this to work, Victor, but right now…it’s not,” he says, trying to smile despite his own tears. “It’s not working. So let’s fix that.”

“Can it _be_ fixed?” Victor cries. He covers his face, palms wet. The bond between them feels fractured beyond repair. “Is there a way to go back?”

“I don’t know. But we can try, right?”

Victor nods. He takes a shaky breath and sniffs to clear his nose. “My family is falling apart,” he says.

The words hang like spikes around his throat, rotating, dangerously close to puncturing the soft skin.

“The night I came out, my parents told Pilar and me that they were splitting up, and then after I told them about me, they decided to try to tough it out while I figure all of this out. And there was supposed to be therapy together, but my mom doesn’t want me to go back, and now they refuse to speak to each other and Pilar is the unhappiest she’s been since we moved here, and Adrian—” A sob commandeers his throat. “He’s just so confused, and scared, because they refuse to tell him the full extent of what’s happening, and every time I walk through that door it feels like a part of me dies a little bit more.”

Benji reaches out and takes Victor’s hand; he brushes back and forth over the web between Victor’s thumb and pointer finger.

“I hate myself so much,” Victor whispers. He crams his eyes shut and surrenders to the free flow of tears. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I _hate_ it so much.”

“I’m so sorry, Victor,” Benji says, his own voice heavy. “I had no idea how bad it was.”

Victor shrugs and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “How could you?” he asks, looking to Benji and falling apart at the sight of his wet lashes.

“I would give anything to make you see yourself the way I see you,” Benji says. “You’re strong, and you’re kind, and you’re caring. Not everybody can say that about themselves these days. Even in all of the vapid bullshit, you manage to keep this innocence, this _reality_. It amazes me. But you have to stop beating yourself up, Victor,” Benji says and squeezes his hand. “Any issues your parents have were already there. Maybe this is causing them all to surface, but you’re not the root of the problem. And _you_ are not a problem.”

Shaking his head, Victor pulls his hand away. “You’re wrong. All I know how to do is hurt people. That’s become super clear. I hurt you, over and over, and you keep coming back,” Victor says and balls his hands into severe fists. “Why?” he breathes around a sob.

“I don’t know,” Benji says, half confession, half revelation. “But I remember the person you were when I met you. I don’t think he’s gone.”

“But what if he is?” Victor asks, his voice a strained whisper.

“Then you become somebody new. Somebody even better,” Benji says, and sits up to pull Victor to his shoulder.

They stay like that for a measurable eternity, Victor silently weeping into Benji’s shirt. Benji doesn’t say anything, just breathes evenly and nestles his face into Victor’s neck.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Victor says under his breath, his throat sore. “Benji, I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”

Benji pulls away, brows arched in concern. “Do _what_ , Victor?”

“Anything.” It’s only just audible over the rain.

It’s clear Benji doesn’t know what to say; he leans in and kisses Victor. Not the same famished, voracious kissing they’d started with. A tender, chaste kiss, his hand supporting Victor’s head.

There’s a flash and they pull apart, both of them breathing heavily. In the distance, thunder rumbles, confirming the approach of a storm.

“I love thunderstorms,” Benji says.

 _I love you_ , Victor thinks. But he can’t say it, not after the way he’s used Benji. Who is Victor to burden Benji with only the fragmented, incomplete love he can provide?

Benji takes both of his thumbs and rubs them under Victor’s eyes, drying his cheeks. He leans into the front seat and rummages through his glove compartment, then comes back with his polaroid camera. Benji swallows hard and studies the device. “Can I take a picture of you?” he asks.

“Right now?” Victor asks. Another pop of lightning. His eyes must be puffy, face blotchy. He’s never felt so raw, turned inside out in the backseat of Benji’s car.

Benji shrugs and turns to camera over in his hands. “You just look so real. Maybe it would be nice to have a memory of what it feels like to open yourself up like that. For the days when it feels easier to shut down instead.”

He glances at the camera and sighs. “Okay,” he concedes.

With a grateful smile, Benji raises the powder blue camera to his eye. Waiting for his instruction, Victor is surprised when the flash goes off, accompanied by a bolt of lightning in the distance.

“Hey, I didn’t smile.”

“I know,” Benji says, eyes locked on the picture as it prints. “That was the point.”

Victor sighs and accepts the print as Benji hands it to him.

“Now can I have one for me?” Benji asks, lifting the camera again. “This time I do need you to smile.”

“ _Need_ me to,” Victor repeats.

Benji chuckles behind the camera. “You can always go smile in the mirror if you need to, but all I have is my imagination.”

Suddenly self conscious, Victor shifts on his haunches. “Fine,” he says and shakes out his head, trying to dispel all of the weight there. “You could always go look at social media,” he argues. “I smile in pictures all the time.”

“But none of those smiles are meant just for me.”

“Every smile is meant for you.”

Benji lowers the camera, a weird sort of look on his face. He leans over and pecks Victor on the lips, seemingly opting to respond with that instead of words. “Okay, smile,” he whispers.

Victor looks at Benji perched in front of him on his knees in the backseat of his car, camera against his eyes, and he finds he actually can’t help but smile. The flash bursts again and Benji takes a satisfied breath. “Perfect.”

“You haven’t even seen what it looks like yet.”

Benji shrugs. “Don’t need to,” he says, and climbs back into the driver’s seat.

Victor joins him up front, his breathing still slightly labored. “Benji, since we’re being honest, can I ask you about what your mom said on the phone? It’s been bothering me all week.” Despite the effort to distance, Benji has taken up most of Victor’s inner world, and the way he’d closed himself off after that phone conversation has been on Victor’s mind.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Benji sighs. “Yeah. I guess so.”

With a stab of guilt Victor realizes it’s the first thing he’s asked Benji about himself in a week, and it’s probably the worst question he could’ve asked.

“There are ways you can stave off a license suspension after a DUI,” Benji explains. “It’s a little bit of a process, but because we jumped on it right away and because I’m still a minor, we were able to demonstrate my sobriety in court. I had to agree to ongoing therapy, and I actually went through some A.A., which definitely helped my case. The suspension only lifted a little while back, right before Spring Fling.”

Victor huffs. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks, all too aware of how hypocritical he sounds.

“Because it’s _embarrassing_ ,” Benji admits, his eyes closed. A rumble of thunder shakes the ground. “I’m still so ashamed of it, Victor. I wouldn’t wish that kind of shame on anybody. We managed to keep it quiet, even with all of the court proceedings, but I’m still paranoid that it could get out and everybody will realize that I’m a disaster.”

Victor reaches over and grabs his arm. “You’re not, Benji. Look how far you’ve come. I mean, you’re driving, right? That alone should tell you how much you’ve grown.”

Benji nods and hastily wipes away a tear. “I guess so. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole truth sooner, especially since—”

“Benji. It’s okay. I get it.”

“You always do,” he says, soft grin illuminated by an electric flash. “You know, I’m really glad I told you in Willacoochee. I think something changed for me during that trip. I know it caused some issues, and some mistakes were made, but looking back…I don’t know. It was a turning point.”

“For me, too,” Victor agrees.

“I guess we have Sarah and that damn espresso machine to thank,” Benji says with a wry chuckle. “And that repairman for taking his sweet time.”

“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” Victor says.

The smile on Benji’s face vanishes. “What?” he asks.

“The machine was done before we even left that thrift shop,” Victor says. He stares at his own hands, shaking in his lap.

“Victor,” Benji says, betrayal inflating in his voice. “You lied to me?”

“Because I wanted to spend more time with you,” Victor says and turns to him, pleading with his eyes. “I was trying to figure some things out, and I didn’t want to come back home, and I just wanted to be with you,” he stammers, wishing he’d prepared for Benji to be so upset.

“It doesn’t matter. Victor, I can’t believe this,” he says with a scoff, running an errant hand through his hair.

“Benji, please,” he says, but Benji cuts him off.

“Why can’t you understand that your pain isn’t an excuse for the way you treat people?” Benji asks, voice low and dark.

“I...”

“You cheated on Mia, Victor. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay and never really felt that way about her. _She_ thought it was a real relationship, and you went behind her back and kissed me.”

“I wasn’t planning on kissing you, it just _happened_.”

“You made me a cheater, Victor. My relationship with Derek almost ended over something like this. I was _so angry_ when that happened—I couldn’t understand how anybody could have it in them to make another person feel that way.”

Victor shakes his head and reaches for Benji, who leans away. “You didn’t kiss me back, remember?”

“But I wanted to. And that’s just as bad,” whispers Benji, crestfallen. He shakes his head in disbelief, the volume of his voice rising. “God, I can’t believe you did this, Victor. It was one thing when I thought we had no choice, but even if you _think_ you weren’t planning on kissing me, you clearly wanted _something_ to happen. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have lied.” He huffs and smacks the heel of a hand against the steering wheel, then winces and shakes out the pain. He brings his voice back down. “People aren’t just there to help you figure yourself out, Victor. They’re not things to be _used_.”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Victor cries.

Benji starts the car, his jaw set. His headlights cut through the gloom, sharp, harsh features illuminated by another flash of lightning, followed closely by a boom. “I’m taking you home,” he says.

“ _Benji_ —”

“Stop! Fuck, Victor, just. Stop. Please. I need time to think.”

“What do you mean?”

Benji takes in a sharp breath. “I mean I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” he says and pulls out of the parking lot.

Victor cries the whole way home, body angled away, head in his hands. This is what he gets for letting people in; he wants to board himself up, nail slats across his heart and pound them in so far they’ll never come out. Benji pulls up to the curb and shifts into park, eyes locked on the twin beams of light ahead of him. The windshield wipers squeak against the glass, their rhythm hypnotic.

“Goodnight, Victor,” Benji says, bottom lip trembling. “Don’t text me. Please.”

Victor opens his mouth to say something but finds he doesn’t have sufficient words. Silently, he opens the car door and steps into the temperate rain. He stands for a moment, looking at Benji through the opening, who looks anywhere but Victor’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers one last time before he closes the door and Benji speeds off.

Victor turns to look at his home, warm window glow cutting through the rain in the dark. He’s soaked through; he’d told his parents he was going to Felix’s, just as he had the other nights he’d called on Benji. They’ve been so distracted that this had somehow worked, but he’s not sure how he’ll explain himself this time around.

Already sopping wet, Victor sits down on the curb, too upset to even cry anymore. A hollow ring issues through his torso, his sternum rattling with the depth of it. This good thing, his last good thing, might be erupting around him. And he’s the one who lit the fuse.

“Victor!” a voice calls from behind him. Slowly, he turns to see his mother’s figure in the open door, her arms wrapped tight around herself. “You can’t be out here in the rain like this, come on!”

He nods and rises, eyes tilted up to the pitch black sky as he makes his way inside.

* * *

The door clicks shut and Victor stands in the entryway, dripping all over the floor.

“So you’re outright lying to us now?” his father asks from the couch. He’s sitting forward, elbows on his knees, chin balancing on outstretched fingers.

Victor stares at him, numb to the burning anger climbing in his father’s voice.

“It’s that boy, isn’t it,” he says through his teeth.

Unable to bring himself to respond, Victor just sighs. What does it matter if his father locks him in his room until the end of time? He’s driven everybody away. A dungeon is what he deserves.

“Armando,” Victor’s mother says, her voice weary. Now that they’re in the light, Victor sees her eyes are puffy. They’d already been fighting.

“I went next door to check on you,” his father says as he stands. “And I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when you weren’t there.” Though his voice is even, there’s no ignoring the undercurrent of rage.

Victor shrugs. “It’s not my problem that you’re not competent enough to keep track of me.”

His father freezes in place. “What did you just say to me?”

“Victor, please, just go to your room,” his mother says. “Get out of these wet clothes, take a shower—”

“No, not until he apologizes.”

Victor sets his jaw. His father’s nostrils flare after a moment goes by and Victor hasn’t spoken.

“You _will_ apologize to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Victor says, voice hollow. “I don’t care what you want anymore, what you think.”

“ _Mijo_ , please,” his mother urges and tries to pull him toward his room. His feet remain rooted in place.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” his father growls, low and dangerous. “Disrespecting us, lying, running around with this _queer_ and acting like it somehow makes you morally superior? You are barreling down the wrong path, Victor,” he father says, pointing a shaking finger. “One I won’t hesitate to drag you off. We’re going back to that therapist,” he adds.

“Under _no_ circumstances will you bring him there,” his mother says, stepping between the two. Despite how empty he feels, Victor’s pulse throbs in his neck, his vision going in and out of focus with each beat. Out of the corner of his vision, Victor notices Pilar peeking out of her room.

“ _You do not make the decisions in this household_ ,” his father roars, throwing a hand at his side and stomping his foot. “You lost any right to decide when you forced us to leave our entire life behind.”

Victor huffs a laugh. “And you’re innocent in all of that?”

His father approaches and his mother steps even further in front of Victor, her arms out. “Don’t you dare touch him,” she yelps, and something vile sinks into the pit of Victor’s stomach at the implication.

“What’s going on?”

Every member of the Salazar family stops what they’re doing when Adrian’s voice sounds from the hallway. He’s in his pajamas, a confused, terrified look on his face.

“Why are you out of bed, my love?” their mother says. “Everything’s okay,” she lies, nodding as if this will make it true. “Why don’t you just go back to your room? I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in again.”

“I don’t need someone to tuck me in,” Adrian says. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

Pilar fully exits her room and grabs his hand. “Hey, why don’t we go to my room while _Mami_ and _Papi_ talk to Victor? They just need to do some grownup things,” she says.

Adrian gives her a look. “I don’t know why you all think I’m a baby. I heard yelling.”

“Listen, _mi amor_ ,” their mother says slowly, “we’ve just been having some problems, okay? But we’re going to talk them through and everything will be fine.”

“You promise?” he asks, doubt and fear all too obvious in his voice.

“Of course. I promise. You have school in the morning. Off to bed, please,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes still shot through with fear. Adrian gives a little nod and turns to return to his room.

“I’ve got him,” Pilar mutters and follows.

Victor looks between his parents, the tension still thick between them. He holds his breath.

“Why don’t we revisit this tomorrow,” Victor’s mother says carefully, her hands splayed in a request for patience. “I think we’re all feeling emotional. Nothing will get accomplished if we make all of our decisions in the heat of the moment, yeah?” she says, her eyes begging her husband to comply.

“I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight,” he says.

“Yes, I think so too.”

Victor finally exhales as his father turns and shuffles to the kitchen, a hand rubbing his temple. He grabs his mother’s arm. “Is he hurting you?” Victor asks quietly.

Her eyes go wide and she clamps her lips shut.

“ _Is he hurting you_?” he repeats, quiet but fierce.

When her eyes fill with tears, Victor grinds his teeth and shakes his head. He releases her arm and pushes past her, fists clenched, hellbent.

“Victor, stop!” she calls.

His father turns at the sound, just in time to catch a sloppy punch directly to his jaw. Victor’s mother screams and his father grunts at the impact, his head snapping to the side as his arms flail up to defend himself. Victor tries to go in for another blow, his mind blank with rage and his muscles snapping out all on their own, but his father catches his arm.

There’s a split second of stillness, the only motion from the vibration of his father’s eyes, and then a fist collides with Victor’s cheek and he collapses, pain radiating through his face. A foot connects with his stomach and he curls in on himself. He’s vaguely aware of his father screaming from above him, his mother crying.

Victor blinks spots out of his eyes and clutches his midsection.

“ _Get out_ ,” his mother is shrieking, over and over. Somewhere to Victor’s right Adrian is crying. His father stomps around him and Victor lashes out on instinct, gripping his leg and sending him toppling. As he flips over Victor climbs on top of him and lands another punch, just one more, before he pins his father’s hand to the floor behind his head.

“Leave,” Victor spits. “And don’t even fucking _think_ about coming back.” His face still smarts, a dull throb in his side, but the mixture of terror and rage in his father’s eyes keeps him focused, unwavering in his demand to have this man out of this house, the only true demon among them. He leans down, a tear dripping onto his father’s face. In a voice like a hot knife, he says “When I let go, you’re going to stand up and walk out. Your shit will be outside in the morning. Do you understand?” Victor has no idea where the conviction has come from; he’s somehow fallen so deep into the chasm of himself that he’s come out the other side galvanized.

“ _Do you understand?_ ” he repeats, clenching together around his father’s face.

He gives Victor an affirming grunt, unable to bring himself to speak. Victor waits another moment, waits to see if there’s going to be some kind of retaliation, but when his father doesn’t move under his grip, Victor rises and takes a step to the side.

His father slowly gets to his feet. Adrian is still crying off to the side, arms wrapped around Pilar’s waist.

Every member of the Salazar family watches as Armando limps to the door and leaves without looking back.

As soon as it closes, Pilar lets out a sob and pulls Adrian close to her. Victor’s mother rushes up to him. “Are you okay?” she cries, makeup running down her face. “Victor, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“He’s been hurting you. He’s hurt _all_ of us,” Victor says. “You wouldn’t make him leave, so I did.” It’s as simple as that.

His mother looks at him, fragile, ashamed, and steps away. Victor understands; though he’s always had something of a temper, it’s never resulted in anything so extreme. He wouldn’t look at himself the same way, either.

“Is he really gone?” Adrian sobs, not aware of the nuance of the situation, the ways their father was nothing but a gruesome specter of himself.

“He is, my love,” their mother says and crouches in front of him. Adrian lets go of Pilar, who crosses the room to hug Victor.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” she mumbles into his shoulder.

He returns the embrace and shrugs, apathy creeping back in. “Someone had to do something.” His face and his side both thump with pain, but that’s all he can feel.

“Yeah,” she agrees. She pulls away and winces when she gets a closer look at Victor’s face, a bruise already forming around his left eye. “We should get you some ice.”

* * *

The house is quiet, an odd peace settling into the floorboards. Victor takes an icepack to his room and sits on the floor at the foot of his bed, his uncovered eye trained on the wall, unfocused.

His phone buzzes next to him.

**_Felix_ ** _: I know things aren’t normal between us right now, but I heard some of that. It sounded really intense. Are you ok? [11:23 PM]_

**_Victor_ ** _: No. [11:24PM]_

Dropping the device to the floor, Victor buries his face in his hands, ice pack and all, clenching his teeth so hard that they sing, tensing every muscle until they threaten to snap.

Everything possible has gone wrong. Even with his father gone, Victor feels sick to know there’s something inside of him that only grows by the day, feeding, gnawing at his insides, insatiable. There’s no lifeline, no second chance. This is the way things are now. Shuffling through, just hoping that another day comes.

Reaching into his pocket, Victor withdraws the polaroid Benji had taken of him, an unfolded boy spilling his life out of his eyes in the backseat of the car of a boy he doesn’t deserve, his lips swollen, eyes bloodshot. It’s someone Victor doesn’t recognize, but he knows it’s as good as looking in a mirror.

With a strangled scream Victor rips the picture in half, throws the ice pack, yanks at his hair. Maybe he’d be better off if tomorrow never came. Maybe he’d be better of if he never existed at all. This is his last thought as he nods off, his mind no longer capable of bearing the burden of this day, this worst day, this irreparable fucking day.


	8. Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SCHISM; _n_. — division or disunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF, this chapter definitely hurt to write. There are some just-shy-of-happy moments, but for the most part it's a HEAVY one. Also, you'll have to forgive the weirdness of the timeline. Canon timeline is already so fricked up and that sort of affected this too. Suspend your disbelief on that front please LOL. I might also go back and try to fix things a bit eventually but I don't have the mental energy after writing this so for now it's just gonna be a little messy and unrealistic. And I'm at peace with that!
> 
> Just a CW for homophobic language (f slur specifically).
> 
> Hoping I managed to hit intense emotion without tipping over into melodrama :) Can't wait to year your thoughts on this one y'all!! <3

Victor floats through his first day of final exams, ghostlike. They’ve crept up on him, pushed to the back of his list of priorities, but the day after the altercation with his father Victor is staring at a piece of paper covered in numbers completely foreign to him. There are equations he’s supposed to know to plug everything into, but he comes up blank.

His whole life feels like that right now. Just variables, data, all of the formulas wiped away, leaving him with nothing but impossible equations.

The same happens for his second exam of the day. Though he hadn’t read the final two books of the semester, he _had_ read the rest. And yet, he can’t conjure a single worthwhile answer to his English Lit essay questions. Eyes stinging from the strain of keeping them open, Victor just writes “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again, filling the page, muscles cramping as he grips his pencil so hard that it snaps in half.

That’s all he has for Monday, thankfully. Which means he has a fresh opportunity to bomb everything tomorrow. Biology’s going to be a disaster for sure.

He gets plenty of ghastly looks in the hallways, no doubt because of the enormous bruise that’s taken residence on his face, a rotted blueberry stretched across his orbital bone. It throbs with every step, and even blinking sends a dull ache through Victor’s face. His midsection doesn’t feel any better, but at least he can hide that.

“Victor?”

Almost falling on his face at being addressed, Victor turns to the source of the voice.

“What happened to you?” Lake asks. The moment is bizarre, so much so that Victor dissociates from it. He wants to laugh. Lake’s typical demeanor has shattered, completely wrenched apart by the sight of Victor’s face.

Victor clears his throat. “I, uh. I fell,” he says. He wishes he’d had the mental energy to prepare a convincing lie, but there’s not much going on upstairs at the moment. Just unforgiving tundra, starved for daylight after a winter that doesn’t hint at any cessation.

“Are you okay?”

Again, he almost laughs. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, voice low. “Felix told me that the two of you haven’t been talking. He’s really worried.”

“Yeah, just another person I’m disappointing, I guess,” Victor says. He shoulders his bag and turns to walk away, but Lake grabs his arm.

“No, I’m serious, Victor. He’s worried about you. And so am I. Did something happen with Benji?”

His name is an icicle breaking from Victor’s eaves and crashing to the pavement of his core. “I don’t want to talk about Benji right now.”

Lake presses her lips together and pulls her hand away. “Okay. Just. Please take care of yourself, Victor. School’s over in two days, right? After that things get easier for a couple months.”

“Sure. Yeah.”

With a final apprehensive look, Lake pats his arm, hesitates, then turns around. She casts him a final look of concern as she goes, but all it does is make him want to shrink to nothing. It seems all he can do is bring other people down. Would they just be better off if he disappeared?

He gets to his locker and takes a labored breath, the still-developing bruise on his side a tangible reminder of what’s waiting for him at home. His mother hasn’t spoken a word since last night. It’s been tearful glances and pronged silence. Not even so much as a “thank you” for putting himself at risk to protect her, to shield them all. Of course he knows it’s more complicated than that. He’s not so childish to ignore the nuance of it. But the fact of the matter is his father had become a threat, especially to him, and they’ll be better off without him.

At least, that’s what he’s telling himself to hush the dissonance in his head.

The whole family had held their breath over breakfast at the sound of life in the hallway, the jingle of duffel bag zippers as he’d come to claim his belongings. There had been a pause, during which Victor’s stomach swooped downward, but there had been no knock, no voice, nobody barging through the door. Just the sound of receding footsteps.

Victor leans against the cold metal and steadies himself, the throb in his side forcing tears into his eyes. He carefully wipes at them, wincing on the left side. He pulls out his phone to see a notification that Creek Secrets has updated, and when he reads the new article something in him almost breaks.

_Mothman Sighting Confirmed False. Picture Proven to be Hiker with Tent._

He wishes he could derive any pleasure from being right, but it feels like a punch in the stomach. Was there a part of him hoping he’d been wrong? What would he gain if the stupid cryptid was real? The joy in Felix’s eyes, in Benji’s?

Benji’s eyes.

The worst thing of all is how he can’t stop thinking about Benji, about the fractured emotion on his face when he dropped Victor at home. Victor aches for him, needs Benji’s arms around him to block the din from inside out. And yet, he keeps his eyes down in the hallways, avoids Benji’s locker. If he sees Benji right now, his ribs might crumble to dust inside him.

Victor pockets his phone and closes his locker, the gunshot metallic clang jolting through his body. He may not make it through exams. His grades have been decent up until recently, but these first two finals are absolute failures. If he’s lucky, they’ll move again before next semester. Start fresh, forget any of this ever happened. He thinks that might be the best option at this point.

Head hung, limbs tight to his body, Victor goes to find Pilar and return to their discarded snakeskin of a home.

* * *

The words swim off the page, dancing in taunting circles in the air. Victor sits heavy in his bed in nothing but his underwear, unexpected May heat like a molten cloud in the apartment. His mother refuses to turn on the air conditioning so early in the summer, so the heat wave has left Victor panting and sluggish.

An ice pack is wrapped to his side, numbing the piercing throbs of pain born from his father’s foot. When he returned home he lifted his shirt and almost puked at the sight, a maroon and navy galaxy on his skin, surrounded by a sickly yellow glow. He wonders how none of his organs are damaged.

Or maybe they are. It doesn’t make a difference to him.

Victor’s notes and textbook for science are sitting open in front of him. They flutter in the breeze from a standing fan, which is doing very little to wick the sweat away from his forehead, his neck, the small of his back. He’s not absorbing any of the information, a diagram of the central nervous system glaring up at hime from the page.

All he wants is to call Benji and apologize. If there’s _one thing_ he can make right, he needs it to be that. Alone with his thoughts, he realizes that Benji had been the only person who made him feel like he was going to be okay eventually, like he’s not hellbound just for existing. It’s a lot of weight to assign to one person. Victor knows that. But it doesn’t change the fact that bearing its full brunt leaves him hunched over and gasping for air.

There’s a knock at his door. Under normal circumstances Victor would ask for a minute, put more clothes on or at least throw a sheet over his lower half, but he can’t even be bothered. Nothing but his boxers on, he says, “Come in,” voice dry and cracked.

Pilar pushes the door open and peeks inside, flinching slightly at the scene before her but persevering regardless. There’s a glass of lemonade in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other.

“Hey,” she says and approaches the bed.

Victor does throw a sheet over himself now, the humanity of her act reminding him of his own. “Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

He shrugs as she sets the cookies down next to him and places the glass on his bedside table. She sits cautiously on the edge of the mattress.

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you,” she starts, not accusatory—oozing with empathy, “but I want to thank you for what you did last night.”

Victor gulps and sits up straighter. “You do?”

“Of course. Dad is…well, he’s a piece of shit. And maybe he’ll come around now that he’s realized we don’t want the person he’s become. Mom wasn’t willing to tell him that. But you were.”

“I guess.”

He sighs and readjusts her position. “Look, you know I don’t do this kind of thing very well. But I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you this serious. It just seems like all of the fun’s been sucked out of you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

She tilts her head and gives him a look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

There’s a pause. Papers ruffling in the fan’s breeze. Ice clinking in the glass.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she concedes. “Just know that if you want to, I’m here.”

Guilt coagulates on his skin; she’s sliced down his arm and bled it out of him. “I failed both of my exams today.”

She schools her reaction, licks her lips. “What makes you think that?”

“Because I didn’t write anything down for either.”

“Victor,” she says as tears fill his eyes. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

He shrugs and dries his eyes on his shoulders. “Nothing feels like it’s worth it anymore. Felix won’t talk to me. Our family might be broken forever. I’m pretty sure Benji hates me.”

“Okay, whoah. Slow down. One thing at a time.”

So Victor explains; gaze locked on his wall, the story splashes out of him into Pilar’s lap. Every detail, every conversation, every stray emotion. And he doesn’t even scratch the surface of what happened with the therapy, with the ongoing internal battle between heaven and hell that’s tearing him apart piece by piece. Even though recounting the last few weeks is as enjoyable as coughing up razorblades, there’s an odd peace that moves in to soothe the wounds as Victor gets it all off his shoulders.

He finishes and checks Pilar, who’s been humming, nodding along, listening intently. “Wow,” she breathes. “Um. Okay. So.”

“Pilar, you don’t have to say anything,” Victor says. He remembers she’s brought him a drink and he grabs it and takes a long sip. The liquid is cool and tart and makes his mouth tingle.

Pilar huffs a deep breath and grabs one of her cookies, shoving it into her mouth. “You need _therapy_ ,” she says with her mouth full.

“That didn’t go too well the first time.”

She frowns and shakes her head, swallowing the dessert. “No, not stupid religious therapy. I mean, like, _real_ therapy. People don’t just get over trauma like this on their own. Not easily, at least.”

“I don’t know if I would say I’ve been through _trauma_.”

She tilts her chin down and quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Tell me, was your own father beating the shit out of you as you kicked him out of our house not intense enough to be considered traumatic? Or some white stranger telling you that you’re going to hell for choosing to be gay?”

It’s harsh, but maybe that’s the point. He’s been packing everything away, refusing to address the emotions and hoping they’ll go away. “I mean…yeah, I guess so.”

“I’m not trying to upset you,” she assures him. “I just need you to know that from an outsider’s perspective, what you’ve been through is way too much for a sixteen year old to handle. You need someone’s help.”

But he’s never been one to ask for help. He’s supposed to be the strong one, the hero, the one who knows exactly which strings to pull to tie his family back together.

“I know what’s going through your head,” Pilar murmurs. “You’re not weak if you ask for help, Victor. It can’t always be you, no matter how much you wish it could be.”

He gives her a tearful grin. “Since when were you so smart?”

“Since literally always. I just hide it well. Speaking of which, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you fail your final tomorrow.”

Victor blinks a few times and shakes his head. “Pilar, don’t you have your own exams to study for?”

She shrugs. “Not really. They’ve all been super easy so far. I think the teachers are going easy on the freshman or something.”

“But do you know bio?”

Pilar rolls her eyes and yanks his textbook toward her. She scans the page and nods. “Yeah, this is easy. Put some clothes on, I’m quizzing you for the rest of the night.”

Victor looks at her for a second and there’s light and color again. “Thanks, Pilar.”

“No problem,” she says as she flips through the book.

He stops her with a gentle hand. “I meant…for listening. For everything.”

She looks up at him. “I know,” she says, nodding. “As much as I’d love to continue this touching sibling moment, your entire grade is on the line. We can hug it out once you pass bio.”

Victor laughs, a foreign feeling. “Okay, fine,” he says and swings his legs out of bed.

“One more thing,” she says as he pulls on a pair of shorts and a shirt.

“Hmm?” When he turns, her expression is serious.

“Once this is all over, you need to ask Mom to take you to a therapist. I can be there for the conversation if you want. But I care too much to see you sabotage yourself like this. I want my brother back.”

He slouches his shoulders but nods. “Okay. I promise.”

“You need to talk to Benji, too. And Felix. _And_ Simon. I get that you’ve been hurting, but that doesn’t make what you’ve done excusable. They’re your friends, and they deserve to know what’s been going on.”

“Alright!” he says with a surrendering chuckle. “Do you think Benji will even give me another chance?”

She pulls her mouth to the side as she thinks. “I don’t know. Even if he doesn’t, you can’t leave things like this. Same thing with Felix. He’s always been a good friend, and you sort of took advantage of that.”

Something about Pilar’s brand of harsh honesty is just what Victor needs to hear. Whatever jagged lacerations he’s torn down his own body, she’s coming in with a careful knife and carving them into smooth lines, ensuring they’ll heal correctly.

“I will,” he says, the eye of his own storm. “I’m going to make everything right.”

“Good,” she says. “Now get over here and eat one of these cookies. They’re better when they’re warm,” she says as she grabs his notebook and another treat, nibbling as she thumbs through his final review notes.

Victor climbs into bed. And operation Victor Will Not Fail Another Exam begins.

* * *

Brasstown is absolutely hopping when Victor arrives for his shift the next day. The world seems a little brighter; he feels confident about his exam (only thanks to Pilar and a second batch of cookies), and after they’d finished studying, Pilar even sat with him and figured out how he might apologize to Benji and start turning things around.

So his hands are shaking violently. That’s perfectly normal, right? This is the first shift they’ve been scheduled for together in a week, maybe two, and Victor knows that Benji is always early. He can settle all of this and they can work side by side again, one of the things that made Victor realize his feelings to begin with.

Sure enough, Benji is in the storeroom, eyes on his phone.

“Hey,” Victor says.

“Hey,” Benji says, distracted. “Sorry, Derek threw a fit and quit the band today, so now everybody is completely freaking out, me included, because we were supposed to do a show next weekend and—”

Victor clears his throat and Benji looks up. His expression is unreadable, blinding light through a broken kaleidoscope. “Victor. What the fuck,” he says. “What happened to you?”

“It looked even worse yesterday,” he says.

Benji sighs and puts his phone down. “We need to talk.”

Victor’s heart sledgehammers into his ribcage. “Yeah. I was gonna say the same thing.”

Benji nods, not smiling.

“Oh, hey,” comes a voice from the doorway.

Victor whips around to find Miranda, one of the new hires. She looks confused.

“Benji, I thought—”

“Yeah,” he says and steps past Victor. “Just come with me for a second.” He escorts her away from the storeroom, leaving Victor with sweaty palms and a sizable list of questions.

“Sorry about that,” Benji says as he returns. “Can we go outside, actually? It’s really loud in here.”

Victor nods. His throat is closing in on itself, not even the typically calming aroma of coffee soothing his nerves. Benji pushes the back door open and holds it for Victor, then takes the block of wood they keep next to it and prevents the door for locking them out.

Benji turns and Victor already knows something is wrong.

“I kicked my dad out,” he blurts.

His balance thrown off, Benji almost physically stumbles. “You did _what_?”

Victor points to the side of the building and they sit next to each other on the pavement, gentle hum of cafe-goers floating out into the warm air.

“I found out he’s been…getting physical with my mom. And he’s just not the same person anymore. I sort of freaked out and hit him, and he hit me back, and then I forced him to leave.”

“Holy shit,” Benji murmurs and leans in to look at Victor’s face. “He did this?”

Victor nods, ducks his head. “Yeah. My side too,” he says as he lifts his shirt.

Benji covers his mouth as he gasps. “Victor…”

“It’s fine, Benji. He’s gone. My mom is starting to come around about me bring gay, too. Look,” he says and shifts closer, tries to ignore the way Benji’s body goes rigid at the violation of his personal space. “I know I’ve been all over the place lately. And I’ve been super unfair to you. It’s more than fair that you’re mad about what I did in Willacoochee, and the way I’ve been acting. I’m shocked you’re even talking to me right now, honestly. But you’re the only thing that makes me feel _right_ , Benji. The only person who makes me think that I could eventually be okay with being this. I know that’s a huge burden to put on one person, but I—” He cuts himself off, the words _I love you_ tearing around his head, a feral animal in a cage. “I know I don’t deserve it. You’ve already forgiven me so many mistakes. But I’m changing, Benji. I promise.”

A cloud saunters by overhead. Warm breeze cuts through the humid air, ruffling Benji’s locks away from his forehead.

“Victor,” he says, and Victor already knows he’s about to splinter into pieces. “I’m really sorry about everything that’s been going on and how hard it is on you. And it’s great that things are taking a turn for the better. It really is. But I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“I know, but—”

“Please, Victor,” Benji cuts him off gently, hand on his shoulder. “I just…I think it might be better if we revisit this sometime.”

“This conversation?” Victor asks, dumbly, naively.

Benji shakes his head, hazel eyes glossy in the Georgia afternoon light. “This relationship, Victor.”

There’s a crash from inside—somebody’s dropped a ceramic dish, it sounds like—but all Victor can hear is the deafening roar of a train, hurtling toward him, feet nailed down to the tracks.

“Benji,” he croaks, hasty tears sliding down his cheeks. “I—please. Don’t do this.”

“I think we rushed into things,” Benji says, a tear cutting a crooked line down his own cheek. “I just got out of a serious relationship, and this is your first one that really counts…I just don’t think it’s smart for us to continue right now.”

Victor shakes his head and moves closer, grabs Benji’s hand. “This isn’t because I want to keep it secret right? Because I’ll be ready to come out soon, I promise. I want to start going to therapy—real therapy, this time, to work through all of the shit I’ve been avoiding. And we’ll have all the time in the world this summer to grow together and figure things out. The beach, remember? You swore we would go back, you swore—” he cries, jaw quivering from the strain of not losing it altogether.

“I know what I said,” Benji whispers. “And maybe we will someday. But not this summer, Victor. I—” He’s interrupted by a gasping breath as another pair of tears filters through his bottom lashes. “I like you a lot. I never lied about that. But I have to think about myself, too. Derek made me feel like shit for doing that, and I just…I can’t be in another relationship where my needs are secondary. It’s not fair,” he says, voice caving in. He takes Victor’s hand and gently removes it from his own.

“Please don’t do this,” Victor says, a strained whisper. “I need you, Benji.”

“Don’t you see that that’s the problem?” Benji says, his voice raising. “You can’t _need_ me, Victor. It’s not healthy. I thought we were perfect for each other, but ever since we started dating, you’ve been so uncommunicative and ignorant to my feelings. I understand your home life has been difficult, and coming to terms with your sexuality has been even harder because of it, but that doesn’t mean you can dump everything on me and expect me to stick around!”

Victor pulls back, Benji golden and blurry.

“I’m sorry,” Benji murmurs and dries his eyes. “This is the problem. I’ve just been building up this disgusting resentment and it’s been eating me up. I don’t _want_ to feel this way about you. But I do.”

Victor tries to command his tongue, tries to form words, to think of what he can say to make Benji stay, but his mouth is a gaping, empty cavern, only home to salty drops flowing from his eyes. Chunks of the sky fall around him, crashing to the ground and breaking into serrated shards, bits of blue and cloud gray pulverized into dust that fills his lungs, his eyes.

“I don’t want it to be forever,” Benji pushes on, despite Victor’s world ending around him. “You feel like home to me, Victor. But sometimes you have to move away before you can come back and appreciate how perfect home was all along.” Benji leans over and kisses Victor’s cheek, one of his tears joining Victor’s. “Let’s take the summer apart, okay? I want to take this time for myself, and I think you should do the same. Maybe in the fall, we’ll both be in a better place. We can start over.”

“But I don’t _want_ to start over.” Victor buries his head in Benji’s shoulder. “Please,” he says, “please.”

But Benji peels Victor off him and pushes to his feet. He sniffles and dries his eyes. When he offers Victor a hand to get up, Victor almost cracks down the middle, thinking of one of their first interactions, the way Benji’s been the one to hoist him up off the ground from the very beginning. Still, he takes Benji’s hand, savors the way Benji’s skin feels against his palm, knowing it might not happen again. To his surprise, Benji pulls him into a smothering embrace as soon as Victor is on his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” Benji says into Victor’s neck. “This is the last thing I ever wanted to do to you. Please take care of yourself, Victor.”

He nods, words stolen by the rip current of emotion.

Benji pulls away, hands still on Victor’s shoulders. “Go home, okay? I asked Miranda to cover your shift.”

There’s that explained. Victor’s shoulders rattle with another sob and Benji reaches up to dry his face. He kisses Victor, quickly, an apology, a promise, a final acrid punch of emotion pressed into Victor’s lips.

“Benji,” Victor says one more time, if just to hear it on his lips, to see the way Benji’s eyes respond to the sound of his name on Victor’s ruptured voice.

Benji nods like he knows. “Please don’t text me, Victor. I don’t think I can take it,” he says gently, reprising his demand from the other night with care, with love, and then his body is no longer in Victor’s arms.

* * *

Victor enters the hollow husk of his home, backpack heavy on his shoulders, throat inflamed. Pilar sits on the couch and when Victor enters, she looks up with a smile. Immediately, the smiles flees and she shuts off the TV.

“Why are you home? What’s wrong?”

He forces a smile, even as the tears rush forward once more. It’s the moment he hates, the moment he feels like he’s finally pulled himself together and then somebody asks “what’s wrong?” and it’s all he can do not to strip his flesh from his bones and collapse into a bloody heap on the floor.

“Benji broke up with me,” he says, words hollow, and Pilar is instantly out of her seat, arms around Victor’s waist, swaying him back and forth in the doorway as he mourns the death of his last good thing.

* * *

**_Victor_** _: Hey. I know I’ve been the shittiest friend on the face of the planet. But I miss you, and I want to make it up to you so we can have a good summer. Can we talk tomorrow? What time is your last exam? [7:34 PM]_

He sighs and throws the phone to the side, returning his attention to his European history textbook. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to remember any dates, or names, or keep the timeline straight in his head. Pilar has already helped him enough today, and he knows the only exam she actually cares about is her last one tomorrow. No, it would be selfish to take away more of her time.

 _Krrt!_ “Um. Felix to Victor? Over.”

Laughter bubbles up from Victor’s chest as he slides off his bed and grabs the walkie talkie (which had miraculously survived his tantrum when he chucked it at the wall).

“This is Victor. Over.”

There’s a pause, long enough that Victor wonders whether or not Felix is actually going to respond, if he’s decided it’s not worth the trouble.

Then, “What is your current status? Over.”

“Cramming for European history tomorrow and craving death. Over.”

“Ah. So I guess you can’t talk right now? Over.”

“Sorry, Felix. I really need to wait until after exams. Over.”

“Totally get it. How are things with Benji? Over.”

There’s a slew of emotions that hit Victor with this, Felix’s clear jealousy at the helm. “I don’t really want to talk about him right now. Studying is kinda killing me. Over.”

“Gotcha. Hey, I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but I think Mia took that class last semester. She might still have her notes. Over.”

Victor’s heart squeezes at the sound of her name. He misses her. A lot. “Maybe I’ll check in with her and see if she’s willing to share. When are you free tomorrow? Over.”

“My last exam is during the final slot. Not ideal, but I’m ready to be done. You? Over.”

“Yeah, same here. I have to get back to this so I don’t completely blow it, but we’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Over.”

A pause. “Yeah. Sounds good,” Felix says, something wistful in his voice. “Over and out.”

The line goes quiet and Victor places his walkie to the side.

Right. So. All he has to do is text Mia. On this day that feels like a gaping wound, he’s not sure he can take any more salt or acid, but it’s worth a shot. There’s no way in hell his notes are as good as hers. Plus, she might be able to offer insight on the exam itself.

 **_Victor_ ** _: Hey, sorry for texting out of the blue like this, especially in the middle of finals. But I’m sort of freaking out about my history exam tomorrow and Felix told me you might have taken this class last semester. Any tips? [7:46 PM]_

Victor hits send before he loses his nerve. Takes a deep breath. His other exam tomorrow is a throwaway questionnaire for health class, so this is really the last thing he has to worry about. In the second exam slot, he’s already planned to speak to his teachers from the first day of exams and request that he retake them. And also apologize. Not that he hadn’t apologized enough on his English exam, but it’s still important to do it in person.

**_Mia_** _: Hey. Yeah, I took it in the fall. Do you want me to send you my exam review? Lake used it and she got a B+ so you should be fine. [7:53 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: You’re literally saving my life, thank you so much. [7:54 PM]_

His laptop dings and when he checks his email, there’s a color coded document from Mia with all the information he needs.

**_Mia_** _: No problem. Don’t stress, the multiple choice was easy and if you focus on the highlighted sections in that document, you’ll be good for the essay too. [7:55 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: Thank you Mia. You’re the best. How are your exams going? [7:56 PM]_

He watches as the typing bubble appears, goes away, returns, then disappears for good. Okay, they’ve made progress, though. Maybe after exams they’ll both be in a better headspace. Summer always brings a lot of change. Victor hopes some of it can be for the better.

Victor realizes with a start that there’s another relationship he’s almost driven into the dirt. With this study guide from Mia, he can definitely afford to text him and try to put himself on the path to redemption.

**_Victor_** _: Hey Simon. I just want to say sorry for the way I’ve been acting recently. There’s a lot of crazy shit going on, especially with finals and stuff. There’s a lot I think I should catch you up on, if you even want to hear it. All you’ve ever done is help me and I wasn’t a good friend in return. I regret that. Could I maybe call you tomorrow? [7:59 PM]_

Before Victor can close his phone, a read receipt pops up at the bottom of the message. He waits a second and watches as Simon types a response.

**_Simon_** _: Victor, I’m so glad you reached out. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Based on everything you’ve told me, I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now. I was worried about you, but definitely not mad. I would love to talk on the phone tomorrow. How’s the afternoon sound? Bram and I are going out with our friends tomorrow night, but I can talk beforehand. [8:00 PM]_

**_Victor_** _: That would be perfect. Thank you Simon. You’re the best. [8:01 PM]_

**_Simon_** _: :) I try. Talk to you then! And good luck with finals! [8:02 PM]_

Victor sighs. Maybe things aren’t as broken as he thought they were. Hope balloons around the edges of his dark clouds, shining silver into his face. He opens Mia’s study guide and tries to focus, but all he can hear are six words, over and over: _You feel like home to me_.

But Victor knows better than anybody that just because a place is home doesn’t mean it’s inhabitable.

* * *

After turning in his essay, Victor is confident that he didn’t fail. He isn’t sure exactly how well he did, but it’ll be enough, and that’s honestly all he can ask for at this particular moment in time.

He takes in a breath through his nose and exits the classroom, slapped in the face by the fact that, for all intents and purposes, summer has begun. His first semester at Creekwood completed, his first summer in Atlanta. Although, his teachers have graciously approved his requests to retake his exams, so he still has to make it through those tomorrow. Even though the last couple of months have had their ups and downs, and even though the events of the previous day are dragging behind him like concrete blocks, there’s a small spring in his step as he goes to empty out his locker and find Felix.

The hallways are fairly empty; not everybody had exams in the final slot, and those who do typically turn in their test and dip immediately. Those who do pass Victor in the hallway are giving him strange looks, whispering to each other. Something sinister whispers to him but he ignores it—they’re probably speculating about his black eye.

Victor reaches his locker and takes another deep breath, unable to ignore the pervasive unease that gathers around him. He chalks it up to the breakup, to the way every time he thinks about it he needs to take a minute to teach himself how to breathe again. Aside from the moment itself, he hasn’t allowed the grief to surface, the completion of exams taking precedence over his emotional turmoil.

“Shit, there you are,” comes Felix’s voice from down the hallway. Victor watches as he skids around a corner and sprints down the hallway. “Did you see Creek Secrets?” Felix pants as he approaches, his face wrought with terror.

“No,” Victor chuckles as he shoves textbooks into his backpack. “What is it this time? Loch Ness Monster sighting in the fountain outside?”

“Victor,” Felix says, and something in his voice makes Victor’s blood temperature plummet, subzero.

“What?” he asks as he turns, oxygen sucked from his lungs. “What’s going on?”

Felix shakes his head and blows out a breath. “Look, it’s gonna be okay. Before you read it, just know—”

“ _Felix_. What is it?”

With a shaking hand, Felix hands over his phone, already opened to the article. Victor’s knees almost give out when he sees the title.

_HAGS, FAGS!_

“Fuck,” he mutters involuntarily, his fingers almost too shaky to scroll down any further. Victor’s eyes gloss over the words completely, hone in instead on a set of three images. The taste of bile fills his mouth.

The first is Benji’s face pressed up against his, taken through the window of a classroom door. The second is the two of them kissing in the back of Benji’s car on a stormy night. The last is from just the day before, Victor crying out back at Brasstown, Benji’s hand on his face.

“No,” Victor says and scrolls back to the top, looks at the headline again, two words that dig into his center and blight the surface. “No,” he repeats and backs up into the row of lockers, sliding to the floor. “No, no, no,” because this isn’t real, this can’t be happening, this can’t be real.

“Victor, we should get you out of here,” Felix says and crouches in front of him, his eyes darting back in forth in fear, discomfort. “You shouldn’t be here right now.”

“Felix,” Victor moans. He leans to the side as the contents of his stomach rush upward and spray across the tile floor.

“Oh, god,” Felix mutters and tries to hook Victor under his arms and pull him to his feet, but Victor can’t fight anymore, doesn’t want to.

“Felix, I can’t,” he says. “I can’t, _I can’t_ ,” and tears won’t come but his chest is seizing, short snaps of breath stuck in his windpipe as his vision blurs around the edges. He wishes the lockers would tip over and smash his head against the floor, wishes the roof would give, the foundation crumble and send him down, down, away, anywhere else. He hardly notices the small crowd gathering as he releases a guttural wail, a sound he could never recreate, something primal that springs forth from the most pitch black, broken corner of his gut. He hurls these bombshell sounds through the hallways, their vacancy only magnifying the pain, everything rebounding and pressing in.

The phone slips out of his hand and a piercing whine fills his ears. Darkness takes over his vision.

* * *

Victor gasps awake, somehow in his own room. He’s covered in sweat, a terrible taste in his mouth.

A dream. Just a nightmare. He gulps down a few breaths, relishing in the way they fill his lungs like they should, and looks at his phone.

There are several texts from Felix, from Lake, from Mia. From Benji. Missed calls, text after text. Victor looks at the time. It’s after two.

His mother comes through the door, masterpiece of concern. “Oh, Victor,” she says, her voice breaking immediately, and he knows it wasn’t a dream, it’s real, it really happened and his life is over; his mother rushes to his bedside and he folds into himself, falls into her lap and sobs, wishes he knew that things could somehow get worse, wishes there was a way he could’ve prepared for such unprecedented anguish.

She doesn’t say anything, just rubs his back as he sobs like a child, the way he used to when he was younger. But he’s not the person he used to be. He wishes he didn’t have to be the person he is now.

* * *

“Hey, Victor! How are you?”

“Simon,” he says, voice already betraying his pain. “I can’t do this.”

“Whoah, what are you talking about? Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word squeezes out of Victor’s throat like it had bee held captive. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“In Atlanta?”

Victor shakes his head, even though Simon can’t see him. “Alive.”


	9. Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RENAISSANCE; _n_. — a renewal of life, vigor, interest, etc.; rebirth; revival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL. SEASON 2 IS OFFICIAL. I'm so excited that I'm posting this chapter 2 days early :,)))))) I might also be posting the next one on Sunday as usual, but I make no promises. I hope everybody is feeling hopeful and excited. Until the release, I personally will continue to fall headfirst into this personalized version of S2 I've created in my head, but OF COURSE I'm beyond excited to see where they take the show, and I'm so happy that it did well enough that they're getting a second season.
> 
> ANYWAY, to celebrate, here's the first chapter in a little while that isn't a complete angstfest (although it's not pure fluff, mind you). Hope y'all enjoy and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!! <3

His eyes shoot open as his body jerks forward; Victor’s face collides with the seat in front of him; he winces and brings his palm to rub the spot where his eye is still tender. The parting gift from his father.

The old woman who’d set up shop next to him must have stepped off on an earlier stop, because Victor finds himself with enough space to stretch his arms and take in a deep breath. Cool, crisp, with that particular taste that only conditioned bus air offers.

It’s been a long trip. Cycles of emotion hit Victor at unexpected times, like being dunked into freezing water and then thrown into a bathtub full of acid, numb then burning itch. His collar is still damp from the sheer amount of crying he’s done, though these tears didn’t seem to serve a purpose. Usually he feels some kind of release at least, but his leaky faucet heart doesn’t seem to do anything but drip as the bus rumbles beneath him.

Thank goodness he’s woken up; his stop is next. Victor tightens his grip on his duffel bag, hands trembling in the straps. He just needs to see him, to remember what it feels like to be whole. If he can make it that far, he might be able to pull himself back to his feet.

With a screech like cheap silverware on an old dish, the bus finally slows to a halt next to the sidewalk. Victor closes his eyes, just for a second, hoping his limbs don’t drop from his joints the way he fears they might.

Sharp exhale. Victor rises and ducks his head as he leaves his seat, insistent on avoiding another head injury. He thanks the driver as he nearly stumbles down the stairs, and then he’s out on the pavement; the city yawns wide around him, swallows him whole, and it feels like the warmth of the end of days, a resting place.

“Victor, hey!”

Victor turns and rifles through the crowd, eyes landing on Simon’s grinning face as he approaches. The smile flickers when Simon notices the fading bruise over Victor’s left eye, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Victor forces a weak smile as he hikes his bag up on his shoulder. “Hi, Simon,” he says.

Simon stops in front of him, still grinning cautiously. “How was the trip?”

“I slept through most of it, I think.”

“Yeah, that’s the way to do it. Let’s go. The walk isn’t too bad. I’m sure you remember,” Simon says. He pats Victor on the shoulder as they leave the bus behind.

Both are quiet for the first minute or so; mostly, Victor is reabsorbing the sights of the city, the way it breathes in the summer heat, how sounds seem magnified now that the gravity of the cold has fled until the Earth tips on its axis once again.

“Not how you pictured starting your summer break, huh?” Simon finally asks.

Victor’s lip trembles and he swallows the feeling down; it gets twisted in his throat on the way to his stomach, a writhing knot in his chest. “Yeah, not really,” he manages to say. He can feel something tapping at his frontal lobe, the desire to fall to his knees and give up, but Simon’s building is only one more block away, and he will _not_ grant anybody the satisfaction of witnessing his shattered edges so raw and on display.

“Bram’s not here right now,” Simon explains as he opens the door. “And everybody else is home for the summer already. My friend Abby is coming to visit later in the week, though!”

“Oh,” Victor says as they start up the stairs. “I’m sorry.”

Simon frowns at him as they round a flight. “For what?”

“I didn’t realize you had plans.”

“Victor,” Simon says with a sigh, “you also weren’t the one who asked to be here. _I_ asked _you_ to come, remember? If it was going to be a problem, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I guess so.”

They reach Simon’s floor and Victor starts losing his grip on neutrality. As soon as the door to the apartment closes, Victor’s bag slumps off his shoulder and lands unceremoniously on the floor. He turns.

“Simon,” he breathes.

Simon nods and spreads his arms. “Come here.”

Before he knows it Simon’s arms are around his shoulder’s, his head on Simon’s chest, held down from drifting away as he cries openly.

“I know,” Simon whispers. “It’s okay. I know.”

Victor feels like crying is all he knows these days, but nothing has carved him out from the inside like this has. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, how they end up on the couch with Victor curled up in Simon’s lap, strong hand between his shoulder blades, grounding him. Victor throws open his windows and lets the warm air in, the bad air out.

* * *

Embarrassment creeps up his back as Simon puts together a snack in the little kitchen off the living room. Victor hadn’t even been their fifteen minutes before losing it completely. All things considered, maybe it was fair, but it still smarts to think about.

Simon deposits a glass of cold water into Victor’s hands and sets down a bowl of cherries in front of them, flanked by two empty ones.

“Cherries are my go-to sad food,” he explains as he pops one in his mouth. “They’re sweet but they’re not really bad for you, so you can eat as many as you want. And chewing around the pit keeps your mind focused on something physical. Pulls you right out of your head,” he says and ruffles Victor’s hair.

Victor chuckles through his nose and chews one himself; tart, sticky juice coats his mouth and brings him back to his body just a touch more. A standing fan gently swirls the humid air, a window open to expose them to the sounds of traffic and life below.

“Simon, I’m—”

“Ah!” Simon says and holds a finger up. “If you’re about to apologize, I’m gonna stop you. Like I said before, I asked you to be here. I want you here.”

Victor swallows and twirls a cherry stem between his fingers. “Why?”

Simon chuckles and deposits a pit into his empty bowl. “Because I care about you, and it seemed to me like Atlanta isn’t a good place for you to be right now. There’s a lot of pain there.”

“Most of it followed me,” Victor says and tears the stem in half.

“Pain has a way of doing that. But at least here you have a fair shot of processing it. Some distance, you know?”

Victor nods. “True.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugs. “No. I mean, yeah. Maybe not right away.”

“Totally understandable. Just know that we can whenever you want to.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” Simon says and chomps another cherry. “Hey, I’m not sure if you know all of the details of my Creekwood story. There are some weird parallels, actually.”

“Really?” Victor pulls his legs up onto the couch, crossed beneath him.

“Really. Before any of that romantic shit even happened, I…was also outed on Creek Secrets.”

Victor almost topples off the couch. “Hold on, you _were_?”

Simon laughs and makes sure Victor isn’t going to fall. “Yes. So, you know about the secret emails between me and Bram, right? Well, _Blue_ , I guess. Well there was this asshole named Martin who found them one day and screenshotted everything. Used them as blackmail so I would set him up with my friend. It was Abby, actually, the one you’ll meet in a couple days. Anyway, it was a really fucked up situation.”

“Yeah, holy shit,” Victor murmurs. He takes another cherry, relishes in the way his teeth slice through soft flesh.

“Long story short, Martin humiliated himself in public, Abby turned him down, and to take the attention away from himself, he outed me to the whole school.”

Victor almost chokes on his cherry pit. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, people don’t really like telling that part of the story.”

“So he ran Creek Secrets?”

“Ah, no. It’s changed a lot since then. _Because_ of that incident, actually. It used to be more like a public forum where anybody could post, including the option to do so anonymously. After everything settled, I posted an official coming out—which is _not_ something you have to do, by the way, but it felt right for me I guess—and it inspired a bunch of people to start posting their own confessions. That…got nasty. Almost sparked a police investigation.”

“What?” Victor says with a surprised laugh.

Simon waves his hands. “Yeah, it was messy, but that was the summer after graduation so it wasn’t my problem anymore. Point is, the administration threatened to shut it down, but some girl insisted that it was ‘crucial Creekwood history’ or something stupid like that, and they agreed to let her take it over as long as it was privately run and moderated and stuff.”

“I can’t even imagine the disaster it would’ve been if everything was public.”

Simon chuckles and lays his head back. “It was chaos. Wait a minute. Don’t you know the girl who it got passed down to?”

“Yeah, my friend Lake.”

“Uh…”

“ _Oh_!” Victor says when he realizes Simon’s point. “No, Lake wasn’t the one who, uh…you know. Someone infiltrated the site a little while back and started posting all of this weird stuff about Mothman sightings around Atlanta—”

Simon snorts. “Mothman would never go as far south as Atlanta.”

“Why the hell does everybody know about Mothman?” Victor asks, exasperated. Simon laughs again and Victor continues. “I don’t know if it was the same person. My gut feeling is it was someone different.” This clinical approach somehow hurts more than just feeling it, like he’s doing everything he can to quiet the torrent. Still, part of him has finally stopped flailing, like just being here with Simon is a comfort. Like someone’s really seeing him.

“I just can’t believe somebody would go so far out of their way to _take pictures_ ,” Simon says. He leans forward, eyes narrowed, elbows on his knees.

Victor’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah, me too,” he says, the world mangled as they pass his lips.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to talk about this right now.”

“No, it’s fine,” Victor says and flicks away an errant tear.

“You’re more than allowed to be upset.” Simon places a hand on Victor’s knee. “But here’s just a piece of advice from someone who’s been in a similar position. There will be other times where you have to come out, Victor. I know this feels like the big one, because it’s the first real public one. But the reality of being gay is that every new person you meet, you have to come out to. Even if you consider yourself _out_ out. Some people will have their suspicions, true, and some people will have heard it from a friend of a friend or whatever before meeting you. And in a perfect world, it wouldn’t have to work this way. We could just exist and not have to make a big deal of it. In a lot of ways, it’s not fair. But it also presents a lot more opportunities for you to take control of that moment.”

Another tear drips from the tip of Victor’s nose. “I guess so.”

“Well, I _know_ so,” Simon says gently. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you and say that coming out isn’t a big deal. Especially something on this scale. Somebody not only took that from you, but did it out of pure malice. My situation was a little bit more nuanced than that, but it seems like this person is just violently homophobic. But the point is, life as a gay person is so much more than the sum of every step out of the closet. People know now, Victor. And that can’t be taken back, and I’m deeply, _deeply_ sorry that it didn’t happen on your own terms, or when you wanted. But you don’t have to hide anymore, right? Isn’t it possible that there’s a bright side?”

Victor drives the heels of his hands into his eyes sockets. “That’s easy for you to say.” He’s not sure where the anger is coming from, this serrated envy shredding his innards. “You got to have your magic Ferris wheel moment. I don’t—” He doubles over on himself, Benji’s face burned into his vision. “I don’t get that, because I fucked everything up with the person who was supposed to make it all worth it. So now it just feels so fucking pointless,” he cries.

Simon shifts over and wraps his arms around Victor again, pulling him close. “Victor, what happened?”

“Aside from the physical altercation with my dad? When I threw him out of the house and he tried to beat the shit out of me?” He takes a shaky breath and tries to command his words. “Benji broke up with me the day before the article was posted,” he admits.

“Oh, fuck,” Simon mutters. “Victor…I don’t even know what to say.”

So he says nothing, just holds Victor again until this fit of emotion passes. When Victor sits up, Simon passes him a cherry. There’s something about his unconditional support that makes Victor want to tear his hair out; he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve it. He’s left a trail of destruction behind him, and undoubtedly that will follow him to New York. It’s only a matter of time before he blows up Simon’s world, too, and yet Simon had paid for Victor’s bus ticket himself, hadn’t even asked what had happened before he did it.

“So, yeah,” Victor croaks. “That’s Victor’s life right now. I single-handedly ripped my family apart. And the one thing that could have made it all okay is done. And I can’t shake this stupid feeling that people are going to let this article follow me around forever. They’ll think we broke up _because_ of it. But it was the other way around. That third picture?” Victor says, pointing to Simon’s phone. “Whoever it is literally took that as he was dumping me.”

“Shit.” Simon hands him a tissue.

Victor nods and dries his face, blows his nose. “And the worst part is that I _deserved_ it. I was so lost in my own shit that I treated Benji like garbage. He had every right to break up with me.”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s fair—”

“No, it’s the truth. That’s not just me beating up on myself,” Victor says, although it seems that’s all he remembers how to do these days. “I shut down completely and stopped telling him stuff. And then I started avoiding him in public. We only saw each other after the sun went down, and only to make out in his car.”

Simon hums. “That’s not great. But, if I’m honest…”

Victor looks at him expectantly, hoping maybe he’ll have some Hail Mary nugget of wisdom to offer.

“Victor, I think you need to spend some time figuring this out on your own before you get into a serious relationship. I mean, when I say ‘on your own,’ I just mean outside of a romantic relationship. I’m always here, of course. And I hope your friends are, too. Have you talked to anybody?”

A cherry pit of guilt slides down Victor’s throat. “No,” he says and hangs his head. “Nobody but you. I have a bunch of missed calls and unopened texts, but I can’t even bring myself to look at them.”

“But why?” Simon asks and leans in. “They care about you.”

“And I don’t deserve it at all.” A hiccup tags onto the end of his statement.

Simon frowns and shakes his head. “You’re wrong about that. Even if you _have_ hurt people, the fact that they’re coming to you when you most need it just proves that they still care. With apologies and time, you can right your wrongs. I’m sure they know how sorry you are.”

Victor shrugs and slumps against the arm of the couch. “Maybe,” he mumbles.

Simon is about to say something else when the door opens. Victor’s head pops up as Bram comes backward through the door, bags of groceries under either arm. Simon hops off the couch and runs to help, and when Bram turns his face lights up.

“Hey!” he laughs as Simon relieves him of some of his load. Simon and Bram exchange a quick kiss as Simon makes off with the food.

Victor flashes a smile as he rises and crosses the room.

“Oh, wait, I’m all sweaty from the walk—”

Victor ignores Bram and wraps his arms around Bram’s body.

Bram sighs into the embrace, then returns it. “Hi, Victor,” he says.

Victor pulls away. “Hi. You _are_ sweaty,” he says and pretends to shake his arms off, glad to have a distraction.

“I warned you!”

Simon is already putting things away in the kitchen, humming gently to himself.

“For real, though, how are you doing?” Bram asks.

Victor shrugs. “I wish I could say I’ve been worse, but…”

“That good, huh? Why don’t you tell me about it?”

And so they return to the couch, Bram’s mouth stretching into a knowing smile when he sees the cherries. Victor explains everything: Creek Secrets, the breakup, kicking out his father, the way he’s been clawing himself apart from the inside since everything changed. By the time he finishes, the cherry bowl is nearly empty and two mounds of shiny pits sit in the bowls in front of them. Simon perches up on the arm of the couch next to Bram.

“Well fuck. You’ve definitely been _through it_ ,” Bram says when Victor finishes. He stretches out his arms and runs a hand over his hair, blowing out a breath through o-shaped lips. “We’re glad you’re here, though.”

“True,” Simon says. “And we get you for a whole week this time. What did you tell your mom, by the way?”

Victor sighs. “I…didn’t tell her that I was leaving.”

Simon slips off the couch and lands hard on the floor.

“Victor,” Bram says and tilts his head. “She’s gonna go _crazy_. Hasn’t she called you or anything?”

“Surprisingly, no. I told my sister where I was going. It’s possible she’s covering for me. I don’t know. And I don’t cares,” he emphasizes when he sees the looks on their faces. “My mom has been coming around, but the progress is slow. And I’m worried something like this might make her take two steps backward. It’s her worst fears come to life, basically.”

Simon rubs his backside as he retakes his seat. “As long as Pilar knows you’re here, I guess.”

“Is there a way we can sue for custody?” Bram asks. “Partial, at least?”

Victor chuckles. “Well, I still love my family, no matter how fucked up it is. Maybe not my dad right now, but I don’t think I’m ready to cut myself off entirely.”

“Fine,” Bram says with a sigh. “But for this week at least, we are your gay dads. Period.”

Simon nods. “Agreed.”

“You’re not old enough to be my dads.”

“Our position is nonnegotiable,” Bram says and taps Victor’s nose. He grabs the cherry bowls and clears them. “Fatherhood is so exciting, isn’t it babe?”

Simon grins. “Yeah. Practice for the future, I guess.”

A blush rises in Victor’s cheeks at such a wanton display of tenderness between the two. It reminds him of everything he’s lost.

* * *

They sit around the table, picking at the remnants of their dinner. Simon insisted on cooking for Victor, and also had to do his sister a favor by testing a new recipe she’s developing for gourmet chicken tenders.

“She wants to make sure they’re idiot-proof,” he’d explained.

Victor wouldn’t even come close to describing Simon as an idiot, but regardless, the dinner had been delicious. Now, Bram is in the middle of a story about one of the first college parties he went to and how some guy got so drunk that he thought hanging from a frat house chandelier would be a good idea. (Why they had a chandelier in a frat house in the first place, Bram has no idea).

After they finish, Bram starts in on the dishes and Simon pulls Victor into the other room.

“I have something for you,” he says. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a key on a string. “We’ve all agreed—Bram, Ivy, Kim, Justin, and me—that you should have a key to the apartment. Just in case something else happens and you need somewhere to go, but we’re not here.”

Victor huffs in disbelief as Simon places the key in his palm and wraps Victor’s fingers around it. “We’re going back to Atlanta at the end of the week with Abby, but unfortunately to keep our lease we have to pay rent even when we’re not here.”

“You mean your _parents_ have to pay rent,” Bram calls from the kitchen.

Simon rolls his eyes but nods. “Right. My parents are covering it, just so I can come home for the summer. My point is, it’s always open. Just let us know, right? Justin will probably be in and out because he can only take so much of his family at a time, and I know Ivy is the same way.”

“Simon, this is insane,” Victor breathes, staring down at the jagged metal in his hand. “Are you sure?”

“I’m _very_ sure. Everybody deserves a place where they feel safe no matter what. We just hope this can be that place for you.”

Not sure what else to say, Victor hugs Simon, glad he’s all cried out. “Thank you,” he says over Simon’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Of course,” Simon responds.

Bram pats Victor’s back as he passes. “Butts on the couch now, please. We’re watching Grease.”

Simon groans. “Can we watch _anything_ else?”

“What’s wrong with Grease?” Victor asks.

“Have you ever seen it?” Bram asks.

“Uh, nope.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Simon says. “Here’s the plot: asshole guy and innocent girl fall in love, innocent girl changes everything about herself to impress asshole guy.”

“Okay, yes, the misogyny of the plot line is not something I condone. But it was a different time! And the _music_ ,” Bram debates from the couch, where he’s already typing at his laptop to find the movie.

Simon leans in to Victor. “It’s impossible to argue with him,” he whispers. “So I guess you’re watching Grease for the first time.”

“Fine by me. It’s like, a gay classic, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far,” Simon says. “You want a real gay classic? Try Moonlight. Or Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.”

“Those aren’t musicals, Si.”

Victor chuckles as they join Bram on the couch. “Isn’t that second one about a guy who has to fight a bunch of other guys to win over a _girl_?”

“Yes, it’s technically heterosexual,” Simon says, gesticulating with his hands, “but there’s something incredibly gay about it. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Bram hums. “It’s the scene where Brie Larson sings that Metric song. Huge sapphic energy. Plus Ramona is canonically bisexual.”

“Sort of,” Simon argues. “Doesn’t she frame it as just being a phase?”

With a flutter of his lips, Bram waves him off. “Yeah, again, it’s a product of a slightly different time. People weren’t as ready to normalize bisexuality ten years ago.”

Victor watches them go back and forth, eyes bounding from face to face like some kind of homosexual tennis match.

“You had tea with Moonlight, though,” Bram concedes. “Plus, you can’t forget the magnum opus of queer film.”

“Which is?”

“Brokeback Mountain, obviously.”

These titles are all going over Victor’s head, but something about Brokeback Mountain rings a bell.

“I guess we’ll just never know what went down in that tent,” Simon says with faux resignation.

Bram grins and giggles. “There are definitely theories,” he says and kisses Simon, who pushes away.

“Bram, not in front of our child.”

Victor’s face heats up but he laughs. “Guys, I’m not a _kid_.”

“You are but a mere infant in my eyes,” Bram says solemnly. “Barely more than an embryo.”

“All right,” Simon says. “Can you please just start the damn movie? I’d like to get this over with.”

“Your wish is my command, _Jacques_.” This earns him an affectionate slap across the chest from Simon, which very quickly devolves into tickling and flailing limbs.

Victor watches wistfully, split down the middle. Part of him is brimming with jealousy, wishing this could be him: inside jokes and familiar physicality and exchanging kisses like little secrets. But the other part of him knows that it _could_ be him, someday. Bram and Simon are so freely letting him into their safest space, being themselves so authentically, and for the first time in weeks, something like hope cracks one eye open and gazes at Victor from the corner.

It all comes crashing in on itself when Victor realizes that there’s one person missing. The sides are unbalanced, an impossible equation scrawling out before him in Simon’s and Bram’s apartment, covering the walls, spilling out the open window and down into the city.

* * *

His phone buzzes against his stomach, pulling Victor out of a nightmare. As soon as his eyes flutter open the details are gone, but the panic remains as he grabs his device, looking at the caller ID.

It’s his mother.

Before he answers he takes stock of his surroundings: walls painted gold with post-dawn sunbeams, the sound of horns and car engines, an oddly enticing city smell that fills the apartment.

“Hello?” he says, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“ _Hola,_ _mijo_ ,” comes his mother’s voice, also surprisingly calm. “Um. How are you?”

“I’m fine, _mami_.”

There’s a silence. Then, “Victor, Pilar told me where you are.”

 _Shit_. “She did?”

“Yes. I _really_ wish you would’ve told me yourself.”

He braces himself for the lecture to come, for his mother to demand that he comes home right away.

“But I’m not going to make you come back before your trip is over, love.”

“You’re not?”

She sighs, a crackly sound over the line. “No. I’ve spoken to your Vice Principal—what was her name again?”

“Ms. Albright?”

“Yes! That’s the one. She knows all about the…incident, and she’s going to launch some kind of investigation to figure out who did it, hopefully. I also asked her if she happens to know this Simon boy, and she spoke _so_ highly him. And of you, too, actually. She wants to offer whatever support she can through all of this.”

Victor sits up and blinks the sun out of his eyes, head spinning. “Wait, wait, so you’re not mad?”

“I…am a little mad, yes. You took off without telling me, and as a mother, that just makes me worry about trustworthiness. But you’ve never done something like this before, and I think…” She sighs again and Victor realizes she’s crying. “This is way over my head, Victor. I hate to admit it, but I have no idea what I’m doing. So if your friends can somehow help you through it, I’d much rather you be with them for a little while, yeah?”

“Wow,” he murmurs, in total shock. “You mean that? You’ll let me stay?”

“Yes. But you can’t do this again. Taking a bus across the country without telling me. I don’t care _what_ is going on, that can be very dangerous.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Mom. I won’t do it again.”

“Good. Are you having fun?”

Victor smiles, thinking about the events of the previous night. After they’d finished Grease, Simon had insisted that they watch a more modern musical, so they’d switched to Legally Blonde. Victor hadn’t loved it necessarily, but it was a lot of fun regardless. Plus, Simon let him have two glasses of cheap wine, and that sort of makes everything better.

“Yeah, I am. Simon and Bram are the best.”

“Bram?”

“Simon’s boyfriend.”

“Oh! Of course. Is he the one from—”

“From the Ferris wheel?” Victor says with a chuckle. “I guess Ms. Albright told you that story?”

“She’s rather invested in the lives of those two, isn’t she? Almost to an unsettling degree?”

Victor sighs and lays back, all of his nerves unwinding. He fiddles with the new key around his neck. “I guess so. It’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

“That’s true.” He can hear her smile. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. I was really worried about you. I mean, I still am, but…”

“Yeah,” he says and squeezes his eyes shut. “Mom, what do you think about therapy? Like, _real_ therapy?”

A pause. “Funny, Ms. Albright asked me the same question. I think it might be a good idea. With everything going on lately, it certainly can’t help to have a professional to talk to. Why don’t we discuss that once you’re home?”

Victor smiles and throws an arm over his face to block the sunlight trickling in. “Sure. That sounds perfect.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to your friends now. Tell them I say hello,” she says, a bit awkwardly, and Victor laughs.

“I will, _mami_.”

“I love you, Victor. So much. Please be safe and keep me updated on things.”

“I will!” he repeats. “I love you, too.”

“All right. Bye, _mi amor_ ,” she says, and the line goes silent.

Victor looks at the time. 6:13 AM. She really called him that early. Knowing his mother, it was probably a small, harmless revenge for her worry. Honestly, it just makes his smile grow to think about her waking up early just to spite him. Like the kind of pranks they used to play on each other back in Texas, back before even a pretend argument could set everybody off.

“Hey, everything okay?”

Victor yelps and narrowly avoids rolling to the floor. He flips over and finds Simon standing behind the couch.

“Sorry. I heard you talking to someone, and I thought it might be bad.”

Relieved, Victor shakes his head. “It was my mom, actually. My sister sold me out.”

“Oh, shit.”

“No, it’s okay! She told me she wants me to stay.”

Simon frowns. “Wait, really?”

“I’m just as shocked as you are. She feels really out of her element with all of this, and she thinks that being with you guys is what’s best for me right now. Plus, she talked to Ms. Albright—”

With a bark of a laugh, Simon puts his hands up. “Ah. Enough said, there. I love that woman, but she tends to be a bit…”

“Overzealous?” comes Bram’s voice from their bedroom.

“Go back to sleep, eavesdropper!” Simon calls back. “Overzealous _is_ the right word, though,” he says begrudgingly. “Well, I think I’m up for the day. You want breakfast?”

Victor nods, his stomach twisting with hunger. “What if I told you I made the best pancakes in the world?”

“I would tell you to prove it and hope you’re not overselling.”

With a laugh, Victor pulls himself off the couch and follows Simon to the kitchen. Barefoot, already sticky in the summer humidity, listening to Beyoncé’s discography on shuffle, Victor is hit with a premonition of sorts, a flash of what the future could look like. That’s been happening a lot since he got here, little pockets of possibility that carve themselves right out of the air.

Victor just wishes that, when he closes his eyes, he could see a world without Benji.


	10. Exigency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EXIGENCY; _n_. — a case or situation that demands prompt action or remedy; emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! Comin at you with chapter 10, which means this fic is halfway done! That's so wild omg. It feels like forever since I posted, probably because last chapter was two days early. Anyway, this is a bit of a heavier one, so I hope you enjoy and that the direction isn't TOO much of a hard left turn.
> 
> _TWs for this chapter: blood, alcohol, gun violence (yes you read that right oops)_

The third day of Victor’s trip to New York, he wakes at noon to the sound of a doorknob jiggling.

They’d spent another night with a bottle of wine and a couple of movies, which is fine, but Victor is itching to get out and see more of the city. Today’s Saturday, though; Simon and Bram have promised Victor a night out.

Victor sits up, wide eyes trained on the door. After a few seconds, the intruder relaxes and Victor releases his breath, but then loud pounds echo through the apartment, Victor’s nerves jumping with each cannon shot. Somebody wants in, and they want in _badly_.

“Simon, Bram, if you don’t wake your asses up and let me in this damn apartment!”

Another deep exhale. This must be Abby if she knows their names, right? Victor throws a glance in the direction of their bedroom, shocked that there’s no sign of life from the other side of the door.

He groans and flops off the couch, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

When he opens the door, a fist almost connects with his face. “Ah!”

“Whoah! Sorry. Um. Where are Simon and Bram?” The girl in the doorway is shorter than Victor, brown skin and short, dark curls. Despite her intensity, she’s grinning.

Victor cranes his neck to see if one of them might be coming to assist him on the welcome wagon. “I think they’re still asleep.”

She rolls her eyes. “Typical. Let me guess: a bottle of wine and both Camp Rock movies?”

“It was actually two bottles.”

“ _Pfft_!” she spurts as she hauls a suitcase past Victor. “They’ll be dead until tomorrow if I don’t drag them out of bed. I’m Abby, by the way.”

“I figured,” Victor says. _I hoped, at least. Otherwise, I just let a stranger into Simon’s home_. “I’m Victor.”

Abby turns to him and smiles. “Nice to meet you! They’ve told me all about you.”

“They have?”

“Of course they have,” she says as she starts for their bedroom. “It’s not everyday you adopt a gay son.” Before Victor can even respond to this, Abby begins to slam her hands against the door. “Hey! Idiots! I texted you both like a hundred times! I AM HERE!”

She steps back, holds up a finger for quiet, then smiles sweetly when an incoherent groan comes from inside the room. “Excellent. It keeps them on their toes. Damn, y’all really slept until almost one. Feels like a bit of a waste of a day.”

“Hold on, you drove here, right? Isn’t that, like, over twelve hours?”

Abby’s in the kitchen now, pulling a pitcher of water from the fridge. “I left in the afternoon yesterday and stayed at a shitty motel. My mom was driving me crazy and it was worth shelling out a little bit of extra money to get the hell away from home. Plus, it’s sort of like an adventure, right? An overnight roadtrip?”

Victor chuckles nervously. “Yeah, definitely.” It’s not that Abby’s intimidating. Well, she is, but not because she’s scary. She’s almost _too_ friendly, and Victor has no idea how she could have so much energy after driving for so long.

Before he has to really turn on his hosting skills, Simon trudges out of his bedroom in a tattered robe. His hair is a whirlwind, dark bags situated under his eyes. Still, when he sees Abby, he grins. “Hey.”

Abby turns, cheeks puffed out from a particularly large sip of water. Somehow, she smiles, then swallows down the liquid. “Si-Si!” she exclaims once her airway is clear.

Victor stifles a laugh, turns it into a cough, as Abby throws her arms around Simon. “You look like shit,” she says cheerfully.

“You should see the other guy.”

“Victor looks fine.”

“Well _Victor_ wasn’t playing the drinking game.”

Abby shakes her head. “Classic Camp Rock viewing tradition. It’s been too long since we had a night like that. Speaking of the other guy, is Bramela going to join us at some point?”

“Yeah,” Simon says with a large yawn. “I poked him several times in the ribcage and threatened to come back for more. He’ll be out in a minute. So, you two have met?”

Abby bounds over to Victor and tosses an arm across his shoulders. “Absolutely. He’s my savior. I was trapped out in a hallway while my quote unquote _friends_ slept half an hour past my ETA.”

“All right, all right,” Simon says fondly. “You two can get to know each other while I shower. And then…brunch?”

She claps her hands together. “Hell yes. If I don’t get a mimosa in me ASAP—”

“You can’t call it a mimosa if you chug half a bottle of champagne and chase with half a shot of OJ, Abby,” Simon calls over his shoulder as he retreats into his bedroom.

“Hilarious coming from Barefoot’s number one customer!” she shoots back. Abby winks at Victor. “He’s wrong about that, by the way. I personally think that if you’re consuming champagne in any form while it’s still light out, you can call that shit a mimosa. Wait. How old are you again?”

Victor’s cheeks warm. “Sixteen.”

Abby tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes as she studies him. “Hm. Start ‘em young, I guess?”

“I’ve had alcohol before,” Victor says. Embarrassment pricks the tips of his ears.

“Of course you have. Creekwood parties,” she says with a sigh. “Not to be _that girl_ , but I really, truly, do _not_ miss it. Life is so much better beyond high school.”

Right now, Victor desperately needs that to be true.

“So, tell me more about you,” Abby says. She sits down on Victor’s bed—well, the couch—and pats the empty space next to her. “I’m up to date on the situation, by the way. I’m really sorry. Sometimes Creekwood kids are so shitty. Some of them are just…” She clenches her fists. “So privileged and entitled.”

“Yeah,” Victor agrees as he takes his spot beside her. “It’s fine, I guess.”

She frowns. “Uh, no, it’s not. There’s no way you’re fine.”

Victor shrugs and plays with the hem of his t-shirt. “I feel better here, though.”

Abby nods, her mouth quirked to the side. “It sort of shows you the way things can be in the real world, huh?”

“I guess so. I really don’t know what my future looks like, but if it’s anything like this…”

“Well, let’s not worry about that yet, then! What about your present? There must be good things going on in your life. Don’t you have a boyfriend? I feel like Simon mentioned a boyfriend.”

Victor’s stomach whirls, dodges the sucker punch of her words. “Uh, yeah. That sort of…ended.”

“Oh fuck,” she whispers and covers her mouth. “It wasn’t because of…?”

“No, no,” Victor says. “It happened the day before.”

In the proceeding silence, Simon’s shower splashes on in the background. A car alarm blares somewhere down the street. The afternoon air is already muggy, crowding Victor’s skin, filling his head. He’s reminded of the beachy atmosphere of Tybee Island, the benevolent sun that hung low over their shining day and kept their secrets close. Why is it that no matter how far he goes, Victor always stumbles back blindly toward Benji?

“Okay, well, what else?” Abby asks, more carefully now. “Are you in any clubs or anything?”

Victor nods, glad to be on a different topic. “Yeah, I’m on the basketball team.”

“Ooh! That’s awesome! Has Bram told you about the all gay league he plays with here?”

He grins, transported back to that day months ago. “I’ve met them, actually. The first time I impulse bused myself to the city.”

Abby laughs. “Incredible!”

“Damn, who let the riffraff in?” Bram’s voice comes from behind them.

Abby looks past Victor and her eyes light up. “Bramjamin!” she says as she launches herself off the couch. The nickname is another accidental jab, another momentary possession. It passes. The ghost dissipates.

Victor retreats into himself while Abby and Bram catch up. He needs to shake it, the way Benji still follows him around like a starved dog, like Victor still has fresh blood dripping from the bone. He won’t survive in Atlanta if he can’t breathe without Benji in New York. The air is lighter here, sits in his lungs differently. Victor just wishes he could rid himself of the incessant ache in his throat, the constant feeling that tears could spring forth at any moment.

Simon emerges, hair wet and cheeks rosy. Victor absently twists the key hanging around his neck, the metal warm and sharp between his fingers. He used to wear a cross on a thin golden chain, loved to press it between his palms and let the metal absorb his warmth. The thought is oddly hollow, like a memory plucked from another life and implanted into his own. The way his life has gone, he can’t believe he was ever so religious.

Simon sits beside him.

“Hey. You okay? I know Abby can be a lot, but she means well.”

Victor allows the key to slip between his digits; it falls and bangs against his sternum, knocking, seeming to ask if there’s still a heart in there. “I’m fine,” he lies.

“I don’t want to push,” Simon says and shifts on the couch, “but I think we should talk about what you said on the phone.”

Jubilant chatter underscores the sawtooth onus of Victor’s actions. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, I’m worried. And you shouldn’t feel sorry. Victor, if you really are suicidal, there are ways we can help.”

“Suicidal?” The word rolls around in Victor’s mouth, sour, rotten.

Simon sighs. “You told me you didn’t want to be alive.”

Victor wishes it had just been an exaggeration, wishes he could take it all back and laugh it off. His hand unconsciously returns to the jagged metal that dangles from his neck. “In that moment, I really didn’t,” he admits. “I feel better now, though.”

“Still. It’s scary that you got to that point.”

He nods, tears biting his eyes.

“I don’t want you to feel ashamed about it, Victor. After everything you’ve been through lately, at school _and_ at home, it’s only natural that you were starting to feel a little hopeless. I’m just worried about you. And not talking about it doesn’t make it go away.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, throat burning. He battles down a rising apology and swallows. His mouth is dry.

“Just…please, promise me if you start to feel that way again, you let me know. You have my word that I will _never_ turn you away in a moment like that. I know how you feel, Victor. You probably feel a bit like you’re a burden, like you’re a failure for not being able to take care of things yourself.” Simon grabs Victor’s shoulder. “And that could not be further from the truth.”

Victor bats his eyelids, trying to wick the tears away. Abby releases a peal of laughter from the kitchen, but Simon’s eyes stay locked on Victor. “Thank you,” Victor manages to say. “I’m gonna make it up to you someday.”

Simon shakes his head. “You’re not in my debt, Victor. You’re my friend. I care about you. This is what friends do for each other, but only if you _let them_.”

And maybe that hurts the most, that Simon knows the depths, knows Victor has made every attempt to drown himself, to cease the frantic bubbles that filter up towards a glimmering surface. Cut himself off, let the dead weight sink to the sea floor. Where nobody will have to keep him afloat while they struggle to keep their own head above the surf.

“Yeah,” Victor says and ducks his head.

Simon gives his shoulder a squeeze and a pat. “I know Bram feels the same way. He was only mostly joking about adopting you, you know. If it were feasible, he’d be all in.”

Victor laughs. That feels good, to laugh. “I really don’t think my mom would go for it.”

“That’s what I keep telling him! We just have to settle for imaginary custody, I guess.”

“It sounds like Bram needs a lesson on sharing.”

Simon grins. “You’re right. Bram would be top of his kindergarten class if he went back now.”

“Excuse me?” Bram’s voice rings out from the other room. “I heard that!”

“It was obviously a compliment,” Abby says.

Victor and Simon exchange a private chuckle, then Simon rises. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks, Simon.”

“Of course. Sorry to spring that on you, but I needed you to know that we’re here for you no matter what, you know? Sometimes you just need to hear that. Anyway, you should get dressed so we can go grab some food.”

Victor’s stomach grouses and he presses a palm against it. “That sounds like a good plan.”

* * *

The day passes in tangerine blur and bubbly laughter. Abby does, in fact, go overboard with mimosas at brunch and influences Bram to do the same, which leaves Simon and Victor sober and watching in horror as they order another bottle of champagne. This they drink without the pretense of dribbling even a few drops of orange juice into their glasses. All considered, it’s almost three in the afternoon; still, something about the display makes Victor’s heart clench.

(It’s because he’s thinking about Benji.)

Due to the fact that Abby and Bram are both insistent on keeping a steady buzz going, they quickly pay for their meal and leave the restaurant. Victor tries to cover his own food, but Simon refuses his money. For once, Victor isn’t embarrassed by this.

Their walk back to the apartment is chaotic; though she’s wearing wedges, Abby still stumbles every ten feet, her raucous laughter ricocheting off the sides of buildings. Simon begrudgingly steps in and offers her his shoulders to lean on—though he smiles the whole time. Bram keeps stride next to Victor, tipsy but not as far gone. His presence is quiet and comfortable. Something about this settled silence shoots daggers through Victor’s ribcage.

(It’s because he’s thinking about Benji.)

When they return, Abby reveals a handle of vodka that she’s brought with her. Simon protests, says it’s far too early in the day to be taking shots, but Abby ignores him.

“I hardly see the two of you, so we’re going to have some _fun_ , dammit!” she screams. “Tomorrow we can cuddle up and battle our hangovers together. Today, we get fucked up.”

Bram cheers at this and Simon rolls hs eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmurs to Victor in passing.

Victor feels a bit better after hearing this. Not because it’s news, but because he knows Simon will be partying at a pace with which Victor is more comfortable.

While Bram and Abby scour the kitchen to find shot glasses, Victor unlocks his phone with hesitant fingers. He has a certified deluge of unanswered text messages and missed calls from his friends. He considers opening them, but he knows an explanation will only shove him further into his own feelings, and right now, he’s trying to crawl _out_. Even the message previews make his pulse jerk in his veins, seeing how concerned his friends are, and how he’s been gone for days, how he hadn’t told anybody where he was taking off to.

He locks the phone and jams it in his pocket. A wave of nausea rolls through his midsection, a bog spilling its contents onto the shore.

(It’s because he’s thinking about Benji.)

“Hey, you okay?” Abby says, frozen with a shot glass halfway to her face.

Victor forces a smile and wishes people would stop asking him that question. He’s so tired of lying. “Yeah, great. Can I do a shot with you?”

Abby grins manically. “I was really hoping you would ask.”

* * *

Dinner is Chinese takeout from the place down the street. Simon and Victor are tasked with pickup, as Abby and Bram are in “the vibe zone” and if they’re interrupted the mood will be ruined for the rest of the night. If they’re going out, the vibes need to be immaculate.

By the time the sun starts to dip below the skyline, the air has cooled off considerably, a warm breeze skirting through the streets.

Hands in his pockets, Victor tries to let his soul sink into the city streets, puts up an internal steel barrier to prevent Atlanta from seeping back in. The liquor helps some.

“You seem off,” Simon says as they round the corner. “Everything’s been fine for the last two days, but you seem really out of it today.”

Victor shrugs. “Just a lot going on, I guess.” He almost laughs at the absurdity of his understatement. He’s fresh off being outed to his entire school _and_ his first breakup that’s actually meant something. No, that’s not true. Mia meant something. Mia…

His head is cloudy, gray wisps swirling into the crevices of pink mass. Because he’s drunk, he allows himself to go there, to the regret, to the guilt, to the things that have taken a backseat to the immediacy of the recent drama.

The glacier inside him ruptures down the middle as an errant thought expands into a fully realized one.

What if this is some kind of cosmic punishment?

_“I’m saying that in order to comply with God and stand in his grace, you have to make the choice not to act on sinful desires.”_

Victor thinks back to Benji’s car, to Benji’s body pressed against his while the world rocked them to sleep. Tangled flesh, flush lips, hands roaming. Had every second been sinful, self indulgent, corruption of the soul? Is there some kind of higher being that’s nudging him down the right path? Or maybe just steering him forcefully from the wrong one?

“Whoah,” Simon says.

Victor doesn’t remember stumbling, nor does he recall the sensation of catching himself against a brick building, the heel of his hand bursting open. Victor leans against the wall, chest heaving, head spinning like a planet knocked from orbit. Blood trickles down the wall as he pulls in labored breaths through his teeth. Good. Let the blood flow. Victor waters the pavement, believing he deserves to be drained this way. Let this city take him.

Simon’s hand is on his shoulder. “Just stay right here, okay? The restaurant is around that corner. I’m just gonna run in and grab the food, and then we can go home. _Stay here_ ,” he repeats, then takes off.

His keys jangle as he goes, disappearing into the fading light. Victor finds himself alone on the little side street, locked in on the smart of an open wound. There’s also the matter of his bleeding hand.

Victor removes his hand from the wall and studies the gash; he winces when he sees that it’s peppered with little specks of dirt and stone. He shakes it out and immediately regrets this; tiny droplets of blood spray the sidewalk. He huffs and forces his eyes wide open, the weight of alcohol sitting languid on his mind.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes once, twice, and he’s getting a call so he fishes out the device. His vision blurs as he checks the caller ID. Benji. The retribution continues.

Victor watches as it rings, rings, rings, and then, maybe because he’s at the end of a rope that’s already frayed at both ends, because he’s a little bit drunk, he answers it, leaving a droplet of blood on his screen in the process. He doesn’t realize until he raises the phone to his face and feels the warm liquid on his cheek.

“Hello?” he breathes, senses overloaded.

A hair-split silence. “You picked up,” Benji says.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Victor spits.

“No, I’m just—Victor, where the fuck _are_ you?”

Victor turns and leans his back against the wall, a foot to the right of his plasmic mural. “New York,” he says, the words velvety on his tongue. He scrapes his teeth along his tongue, tries to hone in on the feeling to ground him.

“Are you serious? Victor, how the hell did you get to New York?”

“Bus,” he says.

Benji pauses. “I—okay, listen. Do you need me to come get you? I’ll leave right now.”

Victor pulls the phone away from his face and uses his clean hand to wipe away the smear of blood. “No, I’m fine,” he says, and he wants to whisper Benji’s name, over and over until it doesn’t sound like a real word anymore. He refrains. “I’m staying with Simon.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Benji says. “So…you’re okay?”

Victor laughs, a dark chuckle that scurries into the basest corners of the street. “Definitely not. No, actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been further from okay.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you answering anybody’s texts or calls?” Benji asks. Victor huffs—Benji sounds pissed. “We’re just trying to help. We have a whole group chat dedicated to figuring out how to help you right now.”

Victor almost drops his phone. “You do? Who?”

Benji sighs. “Me, Felix, Mia, a couple of others. That’s not the point, Victor. I was—” Something catches in Benji’s voice. “We were so fucking worried. We even asked Pilar if she knew and she said no.”

Victor can’t help but smile at her loyalty.

“Well, I’m dealing with a lot, if you hadn’t noticed,” Victor fires back. His defenses are immediately posted. “The whole school knows now, the whole world, basically, and I might fail sophomore year, and you—” He stops himself. Swallows.

“Yeah, and me,” Benji says. “In case you’d forgotten, I’m the other person in those pictures, Victor. This isn’t just about you.”

“But you were out already,” Victor slurs. His own voice sounds foreign to him. Blood seeps from his wound onto the sidewalk; the smell of iron rises up into the warm evening air, turning his stomach.

Benji scoffs. “Did we read the same article? The headline alone is terrible, but some of the things they said…”

Victor sobers up a bit at this. He realizes that in his panic, he hadn’t actually _read_ the article. The title and the pictures had been enough to send him careening. He has no idea what people even think, what they’ve read.

“I—Benji, what did they say?”

“Fuck, Victor. You didn’t even read it?”

“Sorry I didn’t want further emotional scarring.” The moment is so surreal, Benji on the other end of the line, talking to him like he hadn’t crumpled Victor into a ball and tossed him to the side days prior. Like anything between them is remotely the same as it was a week ago.

Benji is quiet for a moment. The only sound is Victor’s own breathing, ragged, weighed down.

“Victor,” he starts, voice suddenly gentle. “I’m really sorry about the timing of everything. I know shit’s been really hard with your family, and then what happened with us—”

“Stop. Just. Please. I can’t do that right now,” Victor says, leans over, and tries to catch his breath.

“Are you…drunk?”

Victor winces. “Yeah. Just a little.” He startles when he notices there’s a woman across the street, shuffling down the sidewalk. Older, he thinks, and on the short side. Not a threat.

“Victor…”

“I don’t need a lecture, Benji. I’m with my friends and we’re having fun. Besides, _you_ told me not to text you. _You_ said you needed time away from me, so you can’t be angry that I didn’t.”

“That was before everything went to shit. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Victor sniffs, scent of blood filling his head. He wipes his palm on his jeans and bites down a cry. “I’m not alone. I’m with Simon,” he repeats.

“But Simon isn’t Atlanta, Victor. Simon is New York. Fine, you’ve run off there for now, but then what? What do you come back to?”

“Not you,” he says, mouth numb. “You’ve made that clear enough.”

A pause. “Can we talk when you’re sober? This is impossible right now.”

Victor is about to respond when he notices another figure coming down the street. Though daylight is almost gone, he can see pale skin, scruffy facial hair, eyes low and hidden under the brim of a dark red hat. He walks with purpose, and Victor realizes that the old woman is his target.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers. Before he can warn the woman, the man is upon her, hand wrapped around the strap of her purse. His body language is off, frantic. It’s possible he’s on something, or just desperately in need of some money. The woman cries out, shouts for help.

Victor wants to jump into action and help her out, but he has no idea what this guy is capable of. He looks around to see if anybody else might be the hero, but the street is oddly deserted for a Saturday evening. The man hasn’t even noticed Victor’s presence. Not wanting to get involved, Victor notices an alley to his left; he shuffles toward it and slips into the shadows, watching as they struggle over the bag.

His phone plummets from his grip when the man pulls out a gun and presses it to the woman’s chest. She’s crying, pleading with him to let her go, that he can have the purse. Victor can hear his own name from Benji’s lips, distant, so far off, not real, tinny and scared in Victor’s phone speaker.

The man screams something Victor can’t make out.

 _Bang_.

Victor doesn’t even have time to turn away. With a strangled gasp he slaps his hands to his mouth. A fan of blood, her body crumbling to the ground. The man hands around for a brief second, and then—

“Victor?” Simon’s panicked voice rings down the street.

The man takes off, purse in hand, heavy footsteps retreating into darkness..

His legs give out; Victor collapses to the ground, tears flowing over his hand, diluting the blood still dripping from his torn flesh. Simon sprints down the pavement, screaming his name, and runs right past the alley where Victor stashed himself.

He can’t look away from the unmoving form of the body across the street, a dark mass only just vacated by life. Simon calls out again and Victor tries to respond, can’t get his voice to work, crawls out from the alley and tries to repress the hiss of pain from his injury.

“ _Fucking shit_ ,” Simon hisses as he turns around. He pounds back down the sidewalk, large bag in his hands. He sets down the food and grabs Victor under his arms. “Come on, let’s go,” he says and retrieves his cargo from the ground.

Victor shakes his head, saltwater blurring his vision. “I can’t, we can’t leave, we have to do _something_ ,” he says, the words pouring out of him like tar. “Police, call the police.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Simon says and tries to stabilize Victor. “I think she’s already dead. Fuck, fuck fuck,” he whispers as he virtually drags Victor down the street. “Did you see who did it?”

“I—yeah, kinda,” Victor says, limping along. “Wait, my, my phone is—it’s still in the alley.”

Simon nods. “Okay, I’ll grab it.”

“No!” Victor says as Simon turns. “Please, don’t…Don’t leave me again.”

“Victor, it’s _right there_. We don’t have time for this.”

But Victor shakes his head and clings to Simon’s arm. “Coming with you.”

“Fine, let’s go,” Simon whispers.

Still drunk, limbs convulsing, Victor holds on tight as Simon guides them back to the alley. He’s shocked to hear Benji’s voice still coming in panicked bursts from the device. Victor grabs it, raises it to his face, says “I’m okay,” and hangs up.

“What the hell was that about?” Simon asks, but Victor ignores the question. He can’t tear his eyes away from the body. _The body, the body_. “Stop that,” Simon pleads, steps in Victor’s line of sight. “We need to go. I think someone else is coming. Let’s not be here when they show up.”

Victor can hear voices from around the corner. “But—”

“ _Victor_. Listen to me. You’re covered in blood on a street where a woman was just shot. _Let’s go_.”

With a final glance at the body ( _the body the body oh god there’s the body_ ) Victor swallows down the bile that threatens to erupt from his throat and jogs crookedly after Simon, pulse thumping. The temperature feels like it’s dropped to freezing and the tips of his fingers hold phantoms aches, blood filling them like balloons. There’s a hole in his head and everything pours out, dribbles down the back of his neck, small of his back.

In all of it, Victor’s world is pierced through, a new axis puncturing the supple skin of his existence, tilting everything so many degrees, just enough that a new season blooms in his head. _It could’ve been me_ , he thinks, over and over, the thought ravaging his head, the shot ringing out again, again, over and over, on repeat.

Victor wrestles with the flurry of wings that beat against his skull, against the flock of thoughts that had led to his hand bursting open on the street. He’d been juvenile to assume—if there is a higher power after all—that he’s being punished. Because from his viewpoint, from the rundown stairwell of Simon’s apartment building as they clamber to safety, Victor can’t help but feel that he’s been saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I wanted to address (even though I'm not sure if y'all notice stuff like this) is that I have DEFINITELY sidestepped when it comes to narrative style. The voice I'm writing in is supposed to be Victor's, but it's definitely a bit loftier and stylized than what I would actually used if I wanted to be super true to that. IDK. I think I just prefer to write this way? But I'm definitely aware that things have reached a more mature/dark kind of tone, and I want y'all to be aware that /I/ am aware, I guess!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're still enjoying. And if that's not something you noticed at all, then...great! <3


	11. Axis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AXIS; _n_. — a central or principal structure, about which something turns or is arranged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! I'm a day late (oops) but here's a much more neutral/hopeful chapter after the disaster that was the events of last week's, lol. Just as a note, I'm not fully sure if I'll be able to keep up with weekly updates once my classes start, but I'm going to do my best and aim for at least bi-weekly, hopefully! Hope y'all enjoy and can't wait to hear your thoughts on how things are playing out after the incident <3

Hushed voices, strained behind a closed door. Victor’s eyes are locked on the wall, out of focus, but he can hear everything they’re saying. The light in the kitchen is on but everything else is suspended in a dark sort of amber.

“I can’t believe you fucking _ran_ , Simon,” Abby says, her voice hoarse and panicked in the next room. Their food as been completely forgotten, but the aroma still clings to the air. Victor wonders if he’ll ever be able to eat Chinese food again.

“What was I supposed to do? You saw him when we came in. If we stuck around, somebody was going to think all of that blood was hers.”

“He’s already been through so much shit, Abby. The last thing the kid needs right now is to be thrown into a police investigation.”

“But he’s the only person who saw the guy who did it.”

There’s a silence. Victor’s heart pumps in his throat. Despite his stillness the muscle gallops, every tender part of his body pulsing.

“Look. It’s over now,” Simon says. “We can’t reverse it. And there’s no way in hell we’re going _back_. Plus, he told me he didn’t get a good look at the guy. It’s horrible, but I don’t think there’s anything he can do to help at this point, and if I can protect him from more stress right now…”

Even through the closed door Victor can hear Abby’s sigh. “Fine. What do we do, then?”

“We go back to Atlanta. We can’t keep him here after that,” Bram says.

Victor’s hands writhe against his chest. His arms are crossed over his ribs, holding himself. If he lets go, he might fall apart altogether.

“And you’re sure he’ll be safe there? I didn’t ask, but I have a feeling he didn’t get that bruise—”

Something cuts her off.

“He’ll be fine. Better off than he’ll be here. We’re not equipped to handle this, as much as I want to,” Bram says.

Another silence.

“Fine,” Abby says. “We can leave first thing in the morning, I guess.”

“I think that’s best,” Simon agrees. “For now, we should probably just get some sleep. Long drive and all that.”

Victor blinks once in the gloom. All of the windows are closed for the first time since he’s arrived, like they’re trying to keep it out, this hulking, looming thing that’s been following Victor around. But they don’t realize he’s brought it in with him. It’s impossible to go anywhere without your own shadow, not as long as there’s light.

The door opens. Victor doesn’t move. Simon is in front of him now; he crouches and gives Victor a neutral stare.

“Hey. How you doing?”

Victor shrugs, looking over Simon’s shoulder. He can’t seem to bring himself to make eye contact.

“I know it’s not that late yet, but we’ve decided to head back to Atlanta early tomorrow, so you should probably try to get some sleep. I talked to Kim and you can sleep in their bed if you want, instead of the couch,” he says.

As enticing as that is, the idea of standing and moving is a daunting one. Victor shakes his head.

“Okay,” Simon says carefully. “If you change your mind, you know where their room is, right?”

He nods.

“Okay,” Simon repeats. “Bram and I won’t be in Atlanta for long, but as long as we are, we’ll be available to hang out, talk, whatever. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Thanks,” Victor says. It’s the first word he’s spoken since Simon dragged him off the street.

“Of course,” Simon says. Then, unexpectedly, he leans forward and kisses Victor on the forehead. Heat rises to Victor’s cheeks and it seems Simon might also be embarrassed by this action; when he backs away, his face is rosy. “I mean it, Victor. Try to get some sleep.”

“I will,” Victor says. “I’ll try, at least.”

Simon gives him a small smile, mouth closed, then pats him on the shoulder and rises. Victor focuses back on the wall as Simon departs, disappears back into his room. Around him, there’s the quiet shuffle of three other bodies preparing for bed. Simon had forced Victor to wash up when they stumbled back into the apartment. His hand is bandaged, blooming dark red. The bleeding has pretty much stopped at this point, though.

At some point his eyes do close, burdened by the gravity of the day. He must be dreaming because he’s back on the street again, the darkness more pervasive than ever. Like some kind of production, he watches the incident in slow motion, visible in the inky night as if spotlit. His body won’t cooperate as he tries to rush forward, to prevent what he now knows is the inevitable reality. But we can never run in dreams when it really matters, never run toward what matters most, or away from the things we desperately need to escape.

 _Bang_.

Victor crashes into consciousness, the room lit by a gentle golden glow.

“ _Abby_ ,” Bram protests from his bedroom. “It’s way too fucking early for this.”

From behind, Abby’s voice calls, “I’m sorry!”

Once Victor has ensured that his heart hasn’t physically left his ribcage, he blinks away the sound of the shot and cranes his neck to check the disturbance. Abby bends over and scoops up the pan she’d dropped on the ground. When she rises and looks in Victor’s direction, she sighs.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Victor.”

He attempts to hide the fact that his hands are trembling. “All good,” he says. Really, he does already feel a bit better, though he has no idea how he’d managed to sleep through the entire night. Then again, sleeping and resting are two different things entirely. When he sits up, everything seems to ache. Especially his hand. It will almost certainly scar; the split had been so deep and jagged. Victor actually wondered if going to the hospital and getting stitches might be in his best interest, but it seems that the blood has more or less clotted. As long as he’s careful when he wraps it with new gauze, it should stay closed.

Victor stretches, pleased by the chorus of clicks that sound from his joints as everything pops into place.

“Are you interested in eggs?” Abby asks from the kitchen.

“In eating them?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” she says with a grin. “That’s typically what you do with eggs, yeah.”

“Scrambled?”

“I can make that happen.”

“Thanks,” he says.

On the other side of a night of rest, the world does look just a bit clearer. Victor pushes himself off the couch and goes into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and taking a brush to his hair. Over the running water, he can hear Simon and Bram arguing about something, but their voices are too low for Victor to glean what the debate is for. He washes his face and stares at himself in the mirror. The bruise over his eye had mostly faded. Good thing, too; he figures he can only handle one serious injury at a time in this emotional state.

Victor lifts his shirt. The bruise along his ribs is still a bit blue, but it doesn’t hurt as much to the touch anymore. The fabric falls from his fingers and he returns his gaze to his own eyes.

It’s strange to confront your reflection like this. Such a mundane occurrence, a daily normalcy, but nothing _feels_ normal anymore. The person he sees is vastly different from the person who’d been trapped behind the glass weeks ago, even days. What is it that ties us together from minute to minute? When a few seconds can so violently and thoroughly change who we are, all the way down to the core. A year from now, will he still claim this face in the mirror as his own? Or will the world continue to alter him until this moment becomes an indistinguishable blip?

“Eggs are ready, gentlemen!” Abby screams in the kitchen.

Victor heaves his shoulders up and down, splashes one last barrage of cold water onto his face, then shuts off the tap. Pats his face dry. Leaves his reflection in the mirror where it belongs.

* * *

The drive home passes in a blur, despite its length. Victor tells his mother that some unexpected circumstances have cut the trip short, but doesn’t elaborate or hint that he’s the apex of those circumstances. What should be a joyful adventure is solemn. Victor sleeps for a good amount of it, and whenever he blinks awake, everybody is silent, the music a dull hum under the hum of tires on hot asphalt.

Abby’s car isn’t exactly large, so the quarters are cramped. By the first rest stop, Victor’s legs are stiff and his neck hurts from the way his head had lolled during his impromptu nap. But all considered, things could be much worse.

Of course, every waking moment is spent torturing himself about Benji. Now that the alcohol is out of his system, he wants nothing more than to call him and apologize, explain what had happened. But it had also been the alcohol that made him brave enough—or stupid enough, maybe—to reach through the walls he’s constructed himself and answer the phone in the first place. So he refrains, and he plays out in his mind, over and over, what he _might_ say if he ever worked up the guts to call.

He’s also growing weary of the concerned looks from his friends. As much as he appreciates Simon and his attentiveness, there’s a studied quality to it, like Victor is pinned down under a microscope. He tries to deflect with casual smiles, but there must be something subtle behind his eyes that betrays any attempted composure.

By the time they arrive in Atlanta, Victor is ready for bed again. It’s already dark, after all, nearing nine. As Abby pulls her car up to the curb in front of his building, a yawn slips past his lips.

“You have my address, right?” Simon asks.

“Yes. I also have your phone number, so I could just text you and ask.”

Simon chuckles. “Right. And you’re _sure_ —”

“Simon,” Bram grumbles from the passenger seat. “Although he is a fetus, he’s _not_ a baby.”

“And how exactly does that work?” Abby says.

They launch into a debate about the logistics; Simon rolls his eyes and pushes his door open. Victor emerges from his side of the car, the air sweet and warm. He stares up at his home as Simon pops the trunk and procures his duffel bag.

“What are you gonna tell her?” Simon asks as he gently pushes the bag into Victor’s hands.

Victor exhales hard through his nose. “Not the truth.”

“Victor.”

“She has enough to deal with right now. The whole gay thing alone still has her on edge, and the last thing I need is to dump this on her too.”

Simon places his hands on his hips. “This isn’t something that’s easily hidden, though. I can see how shaken up you are, and rightfully so.”

He shrugs. “What can she do to help me? Nothing. Look, I already talked to her about starting therapy. I’ll bring it up once I start that, okay?”

Simon gives him a meaningful look. “I really can’t figure out how to read you,” he says with a little smile. “You’re obviously in some kind of shock about all of this, right? I just don’t know how you’re so calm about it.”

“I don’t know,” Victor says with a frustrated sigh. “I think I just don’t have the energy to be broken anymore. It takes a lot of effort to be in a constant state of falling apart.”

One of Simon’s eyebrows twitches upward. He doesn’t say anything else, just pulls Victor into a tight embrace. Victor crosses his arms behind Simon’s back, grateful to have something real to hold onto.

“Promise me I’ll see you before I go back to New York,” Simon says over Victor’s shoulder.

“I promise. We can all hang out. Maybe you could meet my friends,” Victor says, and then realizes _he_ hasn’t even spoken to his friends in days. “Or…maybe that can happen another time.”

Simon pulls away, hands still on Victor’s shoulder. “Yeah. We might be back in a couple of months. The Summer Carnival is towards the end of August, and Bram hates to miss it.”

“There’s one in the summer too?”

“Absolutely. Bram swears it’s superior, but personally, the Winter Carnival has much more sentimental value.”

“Doesn’t he feel the same way?”

Simon smiles and looks toward the car, where Bram is practically bouncing in his seat, play arguing with Abby. “Yeah,” Simon says. His voice drips with nostalgia. “He just likes to push my buttons sometimes.”

Victor swallows down a baseball of a lump in his throat and forces a smile.

“Okay. I’ll let you get inside. Make sure you take care of your hand.”

“I will.”

“And keep me updated on…everything, I guess.”

“Okay, okay!” Victor says with a laugh as Simon pulls him into another quick embrace. “If anything remotely interesting happens, you’re the first person I’ll tell.”

“Perfect.”

“And Simon?” Victor says, voice suddenly small. “Thank you again. For everything. And especially for last night. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

Simon takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I don’t know if I made the right choice, but…”

“Yeah,” Victor says. He doesn’t know what might have existed on the other side of that ‘but,’ though the feeling is all too palpable. “Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, Victor.”

He nods and the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile. Simon gives him one last little wave before entering the car.

Abby’s window rolls down and she sticks her head out. “Bye, Victor! Nice to meet you!”

“Love you, son!” Bram’s voice follows.

Victor laughs and it feels like broken glass jingling around inside him. “Bye, guys!”

The car pulls away. Victor pulls his bag up on his shoulder. Trudges inside.

* * *

He’s greeted by familiar normality. The way your home smells, that fragrance that’s only noticeable once you’ve been away for a while. And it’s silent, which is odd. Victor drops his bag next to the door and calls out, “I’m home!”

There’s no response as he toes off his shoes. Down the hallway, he can see that Adrian’s door is open, and so is his mother’s. Both rooms are vacant. They must be out.

When he turns into the kitchen he almost cries out; Pilar is standing against the counter. She shoots him a mischievous grin when he startles.

“Don’t _do_ that,” he says with a little relieved laugh. “Where are Mom and Adrian?”

“She took him to get ice cream. Again. He’s already getting antsy without school to keep him occupied.”

“That sounds about right,” Victor says.

Pilar frowns. Her eyes catch on Victor’s bandaged hand. “What the hell did you do?”

“Oh,” he says, his other hand moving to cover the scene. “Just, uh, got too drunk,” he says, only lying a little bit.

She narrows her eyes but says nothing else. “Your face looks better.”

“So does yours.”

Pilar rolls her eyes and gives him the finger.

“What? It was a compliment!”

“You’re an idiot,” she says, but she’s still smiling. “I’m glad you’re home.”

A knot of concern twists in his stomach. “Why? Did something happen?”

“What? No, I just… Things don’t feel right without you here, or something. I don’t know. Forget it.” She turns to walk away, but Victor stops her.

“Wait! I’m glad I’m home too,” he says. And much to his own surprise, he finds that he actually means it.

She nods. “Um, if you ever want to talk about. You know.”

“Thanks, Pilar,” he says. “Maybe we will sometime. I think I still need to process everything.”

“Yeah, of course! Just know I’m here, and if I ever find out who did it, I won’t hesitate to break each of their finger bones individually.”

“Okay,” he says with a laugh. He crosses the kitchen and hugs her. “I love you.”

“Ew,” she says, but returns the hug anyway. “Love you too. Please get off me.”

“Fine, fine.” He chuckles and steps away. “How were your finals?”

Pilar huffs. “They were whatever.”

“You aced them all, didn’t you?”

She fails to suppress a proud smile. “Yeah, I did. Are you ready to retake yours?”

Victor groans. “No. But I will be. I still have a week to prepare.”

“Do you want help?”

He gives her a suspicious look. “What’s in it for you?”

“God, can’t people just help each other sometimes? You help people all the time without good reason.”

“I do?”

She crosses her arms. “It’s one of the reasons people love you, asshole. Especially with all of the bullshit going on right now, I figure the least I can do is help you get through a couple of exams. After what happened between you and Dad…”

“Yeah, okay,” Victor says. He swallows down a bad taste. “I appreciate it.”

There’s a knock at the door. Victor frowns and Pilar looks down at her phone. “That’s for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Pilar just gives him an encouraging smile and gently slaps his cheek as she passes. “Just answer it.” She disappears into her room and closes the door.

Victor stands rooted in place for a moment, blinking away his confusion. The knocking comes again and pulls him back to reality. It’s probably Felix; Pilar must have told him that Victor’s back. He knows _he_ hadn’t told anyone.

“Coming!” he calls and crosses the apartment. His heart is in his throat, afraid to confront the fact that he completely disappeared without telling anybody, especially after what he’d heard from Benji on the phone.

_“We’re just trying to help. We have a whole group chat dedicated to figuring out how to help you right now.”_

He plasters on a smile as he wrenches the door open, but it shatters into dust when he sees the person standing on the other side.

“Hey,” she says. “Can we talk?”

“Hi,” Victor says, chest tight. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Do you wanna…go for a walk, maybe?”

“That sounds good,” Mia says.

* * *

“Is it true?” Victor asks after a minute. They’ve been strolling in absolute silence; sweat gathers at his hairline, the evening air muggy. Fireflies blink around them, stars born and dead in a matter of seconds. “Did you guys really start a group chat?”

Mia sticks her hands in the pockets of her shorts and nods. “Yep. It was Felix’s idea, unsurprisingly. Him and Benji tag-teamed the whole operation.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“Because I was pretty sure I fucked up every friendship I had.”

Mia sighs. “It would be a lie to say that you haven’t made some…questionable decisions. I think we can all agree on that. But at the end of the day, what happened to you is—” She huffs and shakes her head. “It’s disgusting, Victor. Whoever did it deserves to be punished once they find them. And they’re trying. Apparently they used some kind of VPN or something to disguise their computer when they posted it, so the administration is having a really hard time figuring out who it was. I don’t know. Felix could explain it better. Have you talked to him?”

“I…have not,” Victor says, guilt blinking in him like so many lightning bugs.

“You should. He’s been worried sick. Lake told me he _cried_ ,” Mia says, eyes still straight ahead as they amble in and out of circles from streetlights.

“He did?”

“Again, it shouldn’t come as a shock that people care about you.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. These last couple of weeks have just been a lot.”

“And that’s okay. I just think it’s crucial right now that you know how much we want to help. Even me. _Especially_ me. A couple weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to talk to you again.”

Victor was waiting for it to come up, the barbed wire fence that’s been built between them. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Mia places a hand on his elbow. “You already apologized Victor. And I accept that apology, I do. I was really emotional still last time we spoke, which I think is fair, but it was still a valid apology. I don’t know if I’ve _forgiven_ you all the way yet, but I think what’s going on right now sort of supersedes that.”

“Okay,” he says, more than a little surprised.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No. I do.”

Another silence stretches between them, a balloon of humid air.

“What happened in New York, Victor?” Mia asks.

He hesitates. “It was nothing.”

“Don’t forget, I dated you. I probably know you better than you think I do. So I know you’re lying right now.” _Because you lied to me plenty when we were together_ , Victor imagines her saying.

“Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? I’m back now. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re back, but you seem like a different person somehow.”

“A worse one?”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t say that. Just. Different. There’s this seriousness that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.”

“Because I don’t take anything seriously?”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Stop twisting my words.” There’s no venom in her voice, though Victor can tell her patience is waning. “I’m just concerned that you’ve changed so much so quickly, that’s all.”

“Well,” Victor says, but can’t come up with any words to follow suit.

They reach the end of the street and turn around.

“Even if you don’t tell _me_ what happened, I think you owe it to Benji to explain. He’s been beside himself since that stupid article was posted.”

“I was sort of under the impression that he dumped me,” Victor grumbles.

Mia tilts her head and glares at him. “I can’t believe you right now. You think that means he’s not allowed to worry about you anymore? Plus, from the way he described it to me—”

“Hold on, he _told you_ about how it happened?”

“I mean. Yeah. He sort of had to catch me up on things.”

“So he told you about my dad, too?”

“No, what happened to your dad?”

Victor takes a second to answer, and Mia gasps. “Oh, my god. That bruise in the picture of you and Benji…”

“Yeah, that was him. I kicked him out a few nights before everything went down.”

“Victor—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. He’s been a shitty father, and he’s gone for now. Bottom line.”

She nods.

“And hearing about the details of my relationship with Benji, was that…difficult?”

Mia’s nostrils flare. “Well, it was better than it would’ve been if I was hearing them from _you_ , if that’s what you mean. Benji isn’t really the one in the wrong there. For the most part. Besides, like I said, there are priorities right now. Like the fact that there’s some homophobe loose in the halls of Creekwood who’s willing to _stalk_ you. Victor, do you realize just how fucked up that is?”

He pauses to consider it. Honestly, he’s been primarily concerned with the fact that he’ll never get to come out on his own terms; he hasn’t even had the mental capacity to think about further implications.

“Has anybody said anything about it?”

She crosses her arms and holds herself close. The night is starting to cool down now that darkness has settled in. “Lake posted something apologizing for the hack and saying that she doesn’t condone any of what’s happened, with that _and_ all of the Mothman stuff.”

Victor snorts. He’s almost forgotten about that, too.

“She was finally able to get the article taken down, but not before some people left some really shitty anonymous comments. It’s probably better that you didn’t even know it was happening. Benji was obsessed with them. Nearly drove himself crazy checking to see what horrible things people were saying. But there are almost triple the amount of positive comments on Lake’s explanation post, Victor. People who don’t feel the need to hide behind anonymity saying that they support the two of you.”

Victor winces. _The two of you_. Back when they were a pair, only so many hours ago. He was counting, at one point, but in all of the madness he’s lost count.

“I know, there’s a sort of dark irony to it, I guess,” she says. Her eyes are fully of empathy. “My point is, for every shitty look you might get in the halls, there are three people willing to hug you afterwards.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, I _know_ so. Read the comments later, they’ll make you see.”

Victor nods. “It’s so unfair, Mia,” he says, shocked when his eyes well with tears. “I didn’t do anything to deserve this, did I? I know I’ve been sort of a fuckup lately, but did I deserve this?”

“No. Nobody does. But have you considered that maybe there’s a bright side to all of this?”

Victor scoffs and almost trips over a raised swore of pavement. “How the hell am I supposed to find a bright side?”

“I mean. It’s done now, right? The bandage has been ripped off?”

“Sure, but have you ever had somebody else rip off a bandage for you? Without you asking them?”

She hums. “No, I guess not. That’s not as much of a silver lining as I thought. But hey, at least it happened at the end of the school year. Now you have all summer to deal with the fallout. By the time school starts again, people will have forgotten.”

“No, they won’t forget,” Victor says. Cicadas screech in the trees around them, the smell of an oncoming storm thick in the atmosphere. “They won’t forget this.”

Mia doesn’t respond. Because he’s right. The Mothman drama will have come and gone, but something this big doesn’t go away as easily.

They stop on the sidewalk in front of Victor’s building. Mia stares down at the ground. “I don’t know if I’m fully ready to be friends again, Victor. But if you need anything, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t reach out to me. Even if I’m the last person on the list, I still want to be on it.”

He stares up through the windows. His mother and Adrian have returned in his absence. “I do feel a little bit better hearing that. And I still don’t blame you for how you feel, especially after what I did. But look where it ended up.”

She sighs. “Even at my lowest points, I never wanted _this_ to happen. When I saw you and Benji together…I mean, it fucking hurt, but something about it sort of just made sense. I was upset, but there was part of me that wondered if I wasn’t paying enough attention, missing signs or something.”

“No. Don’t do that,” Victor says with a shake of his head. “How could you have known? There’s no point looking back and trying to find signs. I think it would be better for both of us if we just try to move forward.”

Mia rubs her arm. “Yeah.” She hesitates. “You know, things between you and Benji aren’t over. Not for good. I can tell—the way he _talks_ about you, Victor, it’s—”

“Please, can we not?” Victor cuts her off gently. “I’m really not in the right place to talk about him right now.”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. The information should be a consolation, especially coming from Mia, but it feels more like somebody’s run him through with a hot spear. “It’s fine. Are you good to get home?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m glad we talked.”

Victor reaches out a hand. “Me too.”

Mia looks at the gesture, then rolls her eyes and gives him a quick hug. “Seriously, go read the comments on Creek Secrets. I promise you’ll feel better.”

“I will. Night, Mia.”

“Goodnight, Victor. See you around.”

* * *

By the time he makes it back upstairs, it seems everybody’s gone to bed. There’s a note on the table.

_Sorry, love. Had an exhausting weekend and had to go to bed. Will check in with you in the morning! <3_

This works just fine for Victor. As much as he loves his mother, having to stare such an enormous lie right in the face is something he’ll gladly wait as long as he can to do. So he closes himself in his room and pulls out his laptop. Outside, the sky breaks open, watering the world, washing away the last twenty-four hours.

His fingers shake as he types in the URL; the very first thing he sees is Lake’s article, which is titled “ _All Homophobes Can and Should Perish_.” He can’t help but laugh. That has Felix written all over it. He opens the article and skims through. It’s fairly short, just a few paragraphs explaining how the article that was posted came from an unknown external source and that Lake herself would never post anything so hateful. She goes on to voice her support for Victor and Benji (again, his stomach turns, but he pushes on) and—to Victor’s surprise—concludes by announcing an indefinite hiatus from Creek Secrets.

Victor scrolls all the way down to see the comments section, chest threatening to burst from the pressure. Dozens of comments, most of them from people Victor’s never even spoken to.

Some girl named Vanessa has written: _People are so bored with their own lives that they have to go and do shit like this? It’s disgusting. Sending all my love to Victor and Benji right now._

There’s another one from someone named Jen: _What fucking year is it? Grow up, people be gay…#TeamVenji!!!_

Victor chuckles at this, despite the emotional blow.

Another, from a guy named Chris: _Whoever did this needs to be caught. It makes me sick to think some asshole could be sitting next to me in physics with these kinds of ideas in his head. I hope Victor and Benji are ok._

Victor is a bit surprised by this one, mostly because it automatically assumes that the culprit is male, but also because it’s another male accusing him. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense, though. There is something about that original article that absolutely reeked of toxic masculinity (a term he learned from Bram during his visit).

Victor keeps scrolling, bowled over by the wave of support. Pilar’s left a comment too: _If anybody even thinks about hurting my brother again, I promise they’ll regret it. Whoever did this better hope they don’t get discovered._

He grins, though he wishes she wouldn’t publicly post threats like that. When it comes down to it, that could be used against her. Still, it makes him fill with a certain spiked warmth that’s so indicative of Pilar’s love.

Victor is shocked to find that there’s even a comment from Andrew, of all people: _Haven’t we moved past this kind of stupid bullying? Let these guys be happy together in peace, damn._

For some reason, this is the most shocking comment, and in some ways, the most encouraging. Victor thinks back to Spring Fling, to the fact that Andrew could’ve weaponized this against Victor and had chosen not to. Sure, maybe that’s the bare minimum, but it still meant something to Victor that Andrew never told anybody.

Victor closes his laptop and takes in a belly-deep breath through his nose. Maybe this won’t be as impossible as he thought it might be.

* * *

“You’re early,” Sarah says as Victor comes through the door.

He shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere else to be these days.”

In all of the madness, Victor had almost completely forgotten that he still has a job he has to show up to. Though he’d made an emergency request for the week off, the night before he’d texted Sarah to see the schedule. When he saw how light things were, he offered to come in.

“What, no fun summer plans?”

He shrugs. “Not yet. Maybe there will be.”

“How about that Creek Secrets article?” she asks as she ducks behind the counter to store a tray of mugs.

Victor stops dead. “You heard about that?” he asks, voice higher than he’d meant for it to be.

“Oh, sure,” she says, still hidden. “Word goes around, and most of y’all who work for me are Creekwood students. I tend to stay in the loop—whether or not I _want_ to is another question.”

Victor barks a nervous laugh, his face burning. “That’s not…a problem, is it?”

Sarah straightens as Victor comes around the counter. She frowns. “Honey. You’re a barista. I figure there’s at least a seventy-five percent chance with every boy I hire. Plus, you and Benji are _not_ as subtle as you think you are.”

Victor’s face somehow heats up further; he could steam milk against his skin. “Well, that’s sort of…over.”

She sighs. “I figured. Benji rearranged the schedule last week and it took me a few days to figure out that he was making sure the two of you were never on shift together.”

“Oh.”

“Right. It made a whole mess and shifted around a lot of people’s hours,” she grumbles as she bustles past Victor into the back room. “Point is, that’s not at all a problem here!” she calls. “Brasstown is a very inclusive environment, Victor. A safe space, if you will. If anybody gives you shit, I have every right to escort them from the establishment, you hear?”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing through his nose. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Sure thing! Can you make sure everything up front is fully stocked? First Monday of summer break tends to be a busy day.”

Victor groans. If only someone had warned him. “You got it.”

* * *

Sarah’s promise that the day would be busy is not an empty one. Victor regrets picking up a double when his first shift ends and he practically collapses in the back. Summer means frozen drinks, blending frappuccinos and smoothies and making fruity teas and lemonades, and Victor’s head is swimming by the time he has to clock back in.

Not only that, but he feels like half the student body of Creekwood has come and gone by closing time. He’s somehow able to shut off the emotional part of his brain and focus on preparing all of the orders, and he does have to prepare most of them. Miranda hops on board for second shift, but because she’s still pretty new, Victor asks Sarah if he can put her on register and do the drinks himself.

“Good idea,” she’d said with a glint in her eye.

Miranda is nice enough, and takes off a lot of the pressure of having to come face to face with a hundred people who now know the secret Victor had been clutching so close to his chest. There’s a certain comfort in that barrier. Plus, she’s good with the customers and a fast learner, so they have a good rhythm going in no time.

After dinner things slow down considerably and Victor takes over the register again, showing Miranda how to make some of the more complicated drinks whenever they crop up.

Finally, things go quiet. There are still a few customers around the tables, but the sky is tinted pink and closing time is quickly approaching.

Victor wipes a hand across his forehead and leans back against the counter. Miranda grins at him. “You’re pretty good at this, you know.”

“At what?”

“You know. Barista-ing.”

He shrugs and absently wipes at a wet spot. “I guess so. Everything just sort of makes sense here. There’s a recipe for everything.”

“Yeah. Hey, I just wanted to say…about that article.”

Victor drops the towel. “Miranda, you don’t have to—”

“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t just say nothing. I hope they find whoever did it and they expel them. It’s so messed up.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“I think you’re really brave.”

Victor frowns. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re here though, aren’t you? Even knowing how many Creekwood kids come here during the summer?”

Again, he hadn’t really known just how hot a spot Brasstown became during the summer months, but her point is still taken.

“And you haven’t lashed out or anything. You seem…unbothered.”

Victor laughs. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m glad it doesn’t show, though.”

“That’s what matters,” she says with a firm nod. “Even if you are hurting, don’t ever let them know. Don’t give them the satisfaction, right?”

“Right,” Victor says, and he’s suddenly falling into a rampaging train of thought—the person who posted the article could have ordered a coffee today, could still be sitting in this very room, could be literally anybody Victor passes on the street. It’s somebody Victor’s never noticed, somebody with enough blind hatred to stalk him and Benji. He shudders.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick, okay?”

Victor nods, his heart racing. “Yeah, I’ll be good here.”

Miranda disappears into the back and Victor’s heart lurches again when he hears the door open. Somebody must be calling it a day; Victor turns to wish them a good night, but sees that instead, somebody is coming _in_. After a day of dodging familiar faces, Victor is refreshed to see a stranger. And as he approaches the counter, Victor’s mouth goes dry.

He’s _gorgeous_. Beautifully tanned skin, smooth and full; dark hair that hangs in loose waves down to the nape of his neck; a smile that straightens Victor’s spine.

“Hi,” he says when he reaches the register. “I know you’re closing soon, but I was wondering if I could get a cappuccino? I have a final project I’m working on and I don’t think I’m going to finish it if I don’t pull an all-nighter.”

Interesting. He must not be a Creekwood student, then. Victor knows a few other schools in the area don’t let out until sometime week.

“Of course,” Victor says, realizing he hasn’t spoken yet. The boy is looking at him, _into_ him, his lips still curved upwards. His dark eyes shine like coal on the verge of diamond, just shy of the tipping point. “Can I have your name for the order?”

“I’m Gabe. It’s nice to meet you—” he leans forward and squints, “Victor,” he says with a grin after reading Victor’s name tag.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” he says, voice full of breath. “It should just be a couple of minutes. Do you want it to go?”

Gabe nods. “That would be great. How much is it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Victor says, though he’s not sure why. “It’s on me.”

Gabe frowns and start to dig in his pocket. “Don’t be silly, you don’t have to do that.”

“Look, I’ve been dealing with people from my school all day. Just consider it a favor for being a face I haven’t seen before.” He realizes that the words might seem a bit harsh, but Gabe just nods and pulls his hand out of his pocket.

“All right, then!” he says. “You’ve just made my day.”

Victor gives him a weak smile and turns to start prepping the drink. “Classes still in session for you?” he asks as he works.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Tomorrow’s our last day. I really wish we’d started two days sooner so we didn’t have to spill into another week, but oh well.”

Victor nods in sympathy. He considers asking where Gabe goes to school, but he doesn’t want to barrage him with questions. Is it normal to ask this much of the customers? Is he always this curious about who they are? Suddenly, Victor is questioning himself.

“I’ve never been here before,” Gabe says after a minute.

Victor looks up from his pitcher of milk. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. It’s a little…out of my way,” Gabe says with an ironic smile.

Not sure how to interpret that, Victor starts the process of steaming, wishing Miranda would come back. Why is he so flustered?

Gabe waits patiently for his beverage, humming quietly and studying the surroundings. Victor keeps glancing over, unable to stop himself, glad every time that Gabe’s eyes are elsewhere.

Finally, the drink is settled in its cup; Victor pops on a heat sleeve and a lid and hands it over the counter. “Here you are,” he says.

“Thanks, Victor. I know how annoying it can be when people come in around closing time, so I really appreciate it.”

Victor waves him off. “You’re fine, we’ve got twenty minutes before we start to wind down.”

Gabe nods and takes a sip of his drink. He winces and Victor suppresses a laugh; of course it’s hot, he _just_ made it. “This is really good,” Gabe says. “Do you work often?”

Victor’s pulse jerks. “Um, what do you mean?”

“Like, are you here a lot?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Especially now that school’s out, I’ll be here most days, I think.”

Gabe nods and takes another scalding sip of coffee. “Cool. I think I’ll be back.”

“Do you have a lot of all-nighters coming up?” Victor asks, confused.

“Nope. But I really like cappuccinos, and now I’m not sure I can trust anybody else to make them this well.”

Victor ducks his head, scratches the back of his neck. “It’s not that big a deal. I’m pretty sure they always turn out the same. The machine does most of the work.”

Gabe smiles. Shrugs. “Maybe so. But why take the risk? Anyway, I have to run, but I’ll see you around. Have a good night, Victor.”

“Good luck,” Victor says.

“With what?”

“Uh. The final project?”

Gabe laughs, a high, clear sound that crowds Victor’s senses. “Right. The project. Thanks,” he says, and then he departs from Brasstown, his graceful stride making him look like he’s gliding out the door.

“Were you just talking to someone?” Miranda asks, still drying her hands on a paper towel as she emerges from the back.

Victor lets out a long, deep breath. “Yeah. Just someone who needed a late-night boost, I guess.”

“He was that cute? And I missed it?”

“Uh, I, what do you mean?” he stutters.

She chuckles and pats his shoulder. “You’re blushing like crazy, dude.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, but he can feel the prickle of heat in his face. And he’s sweating. “Okay, fine, he was cute. Whatever.”

Miranda just gives him an amused look and starts to clean up. While she does, Victor leans against the counter, chin in the palm of his hand. He finds himself anticipating Gabe’s next visit, hoping he keeps his word. Not that he’s in any place to be thinking about boys right now. But just looking can’t hurt, can it?


	12. Recidivism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECIDIVIM; _n_. — repeated or habitual relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!! Very happy to be posting an update, even if it is almost a whole week late lol. Between moving and getting settled in and prepared for classes to start, things have just been a bit wild. Again, not sure how often I'll be able to update once I'm in the swing of classes, but just in case I completely fall off in terms of update, come and [follow me on Tumblr](https://that0negayslytherin.tumblr.com) because I'll prob be posting updates on my writing status there!!
> 
> Also, a of the last update, this fic is my 4th most popular of all time!?!?!? That's pretty crazy, since I've been writing and posting for quite some time now. Very grateful to all of y'all for following along <3
> 
> Anyway, can't wait to year your thoughts on this one. I'm pretty damn proud of some of the imagery I included in this installment :,)

A thick silence cushions the space between the two chairs.

The question that Doctor Freidman—or Desiree, as she said she prefers to be called by her clients—just asked has taken Victor by surprise, mostly because he genuinely doesn’t know the answer.

Their first session is almost over, Desiree’s clean office space seeming to shrink around them as the quiet grows. She sits across from Victor, a patient smile decorating her lips. She’s fairly young, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. Dark skin, hair in locks pulled back with a black scrunchie, her nails painted a tasteful beige.

Victor bites the inside of his cheek. His hands fiddle in his lap. They’d been discussing his reason for requesting that his mother take him to a therapist, and though it made his throat hurt from holding back tears, he’d explained the other therapy session he endured. Somehow, it feels like a lifetime ago, but it’s only been a few weeks. Desiree asked him some questions about his home life, how his parents responded to his coming out, how things have been since. And while it was laborious, there was also a sort of relief that came with speaking so candidly about his experiences.

So they’d arrived on the crux of the thorns that have enclosed Victor’s heart since that fateful moment after Spring Fling.

“I don’t know how to feel about religion right now,” Victor had said. “Can being gay and being religious coexist?”

Desiree had given him a little smile. “Well, what do _you_ think?”

And now they’re sitting in silence; the clock to Victor’s left ticks away in the spaces between loud breaths in through his nose. He picks at the edge of the cushion below him and, after what feels like several eternities, he just shrugs. It doesn’t seem possible to him given what he’s been through.

“Maybe we should end here for now,” Desiree suggests. “But I want you to think about that question, and try to separate it from whatever preconceived notions you may have, or any of the things that other people have told you. Really, Victor, what do _you_ think about that? Maybe do some research. I’m sure there’s plenty of material from other gay people about positive experiences with spirituality. Having a model for the other side of the coin might help you come to a conclusion yourself.”

Victor nods. While he was naively hoping she would absolve him of his sin and tell him that he is still cosmically loved, there seems to be an optimism in her suggestion. He’s still stumbling along, but it’s possible he’s at least stumbling down the right path. “Thanks,” he says, chin tucked down almost to his sternum.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in a week, Victor.”

He stands and forces a smile. It was foolish to think that one session would just lift everything right from his shoulders, so he’s even more frustrated with himself for feeling disappointed.

Desiree rises from her own chair and sees Victor out of her office, guiding him down the hallway and back into the waiting room, where his mother sits. Her features are terse, taut, and she virtually launches herself from her seat when she looks up and sees Victor come through the door.

“How did it go?” she asks, voice a bit tight.

Desiree chuckles and lays a comforting hand on her upper arm. “Mrs. Salazar, it went just fine. Victor can tell you all about it, if he wants,” she says with a glance in Victor’s direction.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “We can talk on the car ride home.”

“Okay,” his mother says, taking in a breath. “Thank you so much Doctor—sorry, Desiree,” she corrects herself with a nervous laugh. “Same time next week, right?”

“Right. I’ll see y’all then,” she says, then disappears back down the hallway with a smile.

Victor’s mother turns to him and cups his face in her hands. He thinks she’s going to ask a question, but all she says is, “Could you please stop getting so tall? I don’t like having to look up to see your face.”

He laughs through his nose and pulls from her grip. “ _Mami_ , stop that.”

She grins and ruffles his hair, punctuating the gesture with a gentle bop on the crown of his head. “All right, let’s go. Tell me all about Desiree. She seems nice.”

Victor gives his mother a brief rundown on the way home. A lot of Desiree’s questions had been fairly run-of-the-mill, just as a way to get acquainted with Victor’s life and background. He glosses over some of the serrated bits, the ones that dig deeper into his flesh if he tugs on them too much. He’s heard that if you’re stabbed, leaving the weapon in the wound can be the difference between life and death. So Victor sits in the passenger seat, knife nestled in his rib cage, and tries to pretend that particular wound is nonexistent.

“But do you like her? Are you comfortable talking to her?” she asks after a brief silence. She turns the car onto the street. “I like that she’s so young. I think she’ll know better what’s going on with teenagers in general.”

As she parks the car, Victor nods. “She’s nice. I think I just need to get to know her a little better before I’m really okay with talking about…everything,” he says.

Victor hops out of the car and accidentally shuts the door too hard; the sound ricochets through the street like a gunshot ( _like a gunshot_ ) and he flinches. His mother doesn’t take notice. She slings her purse over her arm and ushers him up to the house.

“Well, as long as you’re optimistic about this, we’ll go back next week. Okay?”

Victor bites down on his tongue, his mouth suddenly dry. The sound still echoes around in his skull, even as he enters the building, their apartment. He finds himself wishing this place were a clean slate, a checkpoint. But the walls are stained with slurs and the carpet adorned with droplets of blood.

“ _Mijo_ ,” his mother says, clamping her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’ve seemed even more upset ever since your trip. Did you not have fun?”

“No, I did,” he says, and it’s mostly true. Everything was fun until—

“Okay,” she says carefully. “Did something happen in New York that you’re not telling me about?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he lies. “Nothing happened. I’m still just…dealing with everything, I guess. That’s all, I swear.”

She quirks her mouth to the side but nods. “All right. You’d better get changed, your shift starts in half an hour.”

“Oh, man, I forgot about work,” Victor says with a groan. He collapses backward onto the couch and flings his arms over his face. “What if I just don’t go?”

“Victor, we’ve already had this conversation. You get fired, that’s what,” she sings from the kitchen as she fills a glass with water. “Anyway, I have a student coming, and she’s _very_ new to piano. I don’t think you want to be around for that.”

From behind his dramatic arm-screen, Victor giggles. “No, definitely not.”

“I’ll drive you, how about that?” she says, suddenly next to him. She forces the glass of water into his hands as he rights himself.

Victor takes a long sip to conceal his humbled smile. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“You’re welcome,” she says, rolling her eyes and pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Victor says. “Love you too.”

She grins and rubs his back. “Are you ready for those make-up exams? They’re in a couple of days.”

Another groan. Victor chugs the rest of the water and sets the glass down. “Yes, _Mami_. Pilar has been helping me out. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you have to be more than fine,” she reminds him. “Your teachers are already being extremely accommodating in letting you retake those exams. You should aim to ace them.”

Victor stands and waves her off. “I am, I promise. I’m taking this seriously. There’s just…a lot going on.”

“Well, if you would _tell_ me about it, maybe I could help.”

“Mom,” he says patiently. “You have enough going on for yourself. _And_ I’m seeing a therapist now.”

She frowns. “Oh, so talking to a stranger is going to help you more than talking to your own mother?” Her frown deepens when Victor laughs.

“That’s kinda the point, I think.”

The frown melts into a little smile and she shrugs. “If you say so. Go, get changed. I have to be back in time for that lesson.”

In his room, Victor is surprised to see a text from Felix. Partially because it’s a text message and not a voice coming through a walkie-talkie, and partially because Victor is still shocked Felix wants anything to do with him at _all_.

**_Felix_ ** _: Hey bud, just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. I know things have been overwhelming and you probably need space, but I’m still here for you no matter what, ok? :) [3:13 PM]_

Victor looks down at the message, heart bumping clumsily against his lungs. He considers grabbing the walkie, but instead settles for typing out a message.

 ** _Victor_** : _Hey Felix. I really appreciate that, and I really miss hanging out with you. What do you think about coming to Brasstown later? I’m sure Sarah won’t mind if you hang around the counter. (Just stay on the customer side this time lol) [3:32 PM]_

He tosses the phone onto his bed as he changes into a clean Brasstown shirt. When the fabric is over his head, he almost chokes on a breath; there’s a little tear in the bottom hem of the shirt. It’s Benji’s. The one he’d given to Victor to help him cover for himself when they returned from the beach trip.

For a brief second, Victor considers tearing the garment from his body and tossing it out the window. But his own uniform shirts are crumpled up in his hamper.

Victor pokes at the tiny gash in the fabric with a trembling finger, and after a few deep breaths, manages to divorce the image of Benji’s face from the shirt’s hole.

From his bed, his phone buzzes.

**_Felix_ ** _: Yeah, that sounds good! You closing tonight? I’ll swing by after dinner. [3:34 PM]_

**_Felix_ ** _: In my defense, the sign that says “design your own drink” is a little vague. [3:34 PM]_

Victor chuckles and shakes his head, some of the tension leaving his chest.

**_Victor_ ** _: But somehow you’re the first person who thought it meant that you were supposed to come back and make it yourself?? [3:35 PM]_

**_Felix_ ** _: What can I say? I’m a trendsetter. [3:35 PM]_

**_Victor_ ** _: Hard to argue with that. I’ll see you later! [3:35 PM]_

**_Felix_ ** _: Can’t wait!! [3:36 PM]_

“Victor!” his mother calls. “We have to leave now if I’m going to be back in time!”

“Coming!” he calls back. With one final glance down at the frayed nick in the gray fibers, Victor steels himself for another closing shift and exits his room.

* * *

“No, but really,” Felix says, “how are you doing?”

Victor sighs and finishes wiping a mug dry. The sky is already bruise-blue, veins of pink and orange varicose in the atmosphere. “I don’t know, Felix. Some moments I feel normal, and then I think of _one_ of the shitty things that’s happened recently, and then suddenly I’m thinking about _all_ of them.”

Felix grimaces and taps his fingers on the counter. True to his word, he hasn’t attempted to climb over this time around. “I guess it’s all sort of interconnected, right? Like, it’s hard to separate the things out, because they all feed into each other.”

“Right,” Victor says and wipes down the counter. It’s refreshing to talk to Felix so openly about this, but even better is Felix’s lack of saccharine sympathy. Instead, he’s taking a more clinical approach to things. “But like I said, hopefully this new therapist is gonna help me work through some of it.”

Felix nods. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“Yeah, thanks, Felix,” Victor says with a grin. “How did your exams go, by the way?”

“Ah, you know. I did well enough. Sitting and looking at one piece of paper for two hours, though… That’s gotta classify as psychological torture.”

Victor laughs and tosses the towel over his shoulder. He leans against the counter. “You’re telling me. At least they’re over with.”

“True. You all ready for yours?”

“More or less. I still have tomorrow to prep, and after that I think I’ll be good.”

Felix leans over and claps Victor on the shoulder. “You got this. And hey, if you need me to quiz you on anything, I’ll be happy to do it.”

Victor gives him a toothy smile. “Nah, thanks Felix. You’ve already done enough.”

Felix chuckles but gives Victor a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

“You’re still around. That’s more than I could ask after the shitty friend I’ve been,” Victor says, his ears practically steaming.

“Pssh! Come on, Victor. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” But Felix also seems humbled, his eyes down on the polished surface between them. “Have you talked to, uh…”

Victor runs a hand through his hair, does a weird sort of half-turn, then shakes his head. “Not since New York, no. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not yet, at least. Have you?”

“Yeah. We, uh…sort of have a group chat,” Felix says, ducking his head.

“Benji and Mia already told me about it, don’t worry.”

Felix’s head pops back up. “Hold on, you talked to Mia? When?”

“Right after I got back.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell us. So?”

“So?”

Felix gestures vaguely. “Have you made up?”

“Uh…not _quite_. I think we’re taking little steps in the right direction.”

“Huh,” Felix says and plops down onto a stool that he’s dragged over from the counter along the windows. “So she’s just been sitting on that.”

Victor chuckles and absently rearranges some of the items on the counter. “Why do I feel like a test subject right now?”

But Felix is chewing on the nail of his thumb, shoulders slightly hunched and brow furrowed. “She skipped to phase three,” he grumbles to himself.

“Felix!” Victor says and snaps his fingers in front of Felix’s face. “You didn’t really answer my question. How’s…how’s Benji doing?” he asks, wishing it didn’t feel like regurgitating poison as the words breach the air.

Felix pulls his thumb from the corner of his mouth and gives Victor a little shrug. “He’s not taking things very well. It’s worse because he’s worried about you.”

Fighting the urge to bash his own head in with a pitcher, Victor waves his hand to indicate that Felix should go on.

“Well, I don’t think it would be fair to give you too many specifics. You should really talk to him yourself.”

“ _I will_ ,” Victor says, his tone icier then intended. “Sorry. It’s just.”

“No, it’s fine. The time isn’t right yet. I get that.”

“I don’t even know what I would _say_ to him,” Victor says, turning his back so Felix won’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. “Nothing makes sense right now. I should hate him, but all I can think about is the fact that I didn’t even think to worry about him until he called me. And I feel so _shitty_ about it. And then there’s—” He stops himself, forbidden words resting dark on his tongue, bitter espresso of a memory jump-starting his pulse.

Sounds from the cafe sound far-off, like Victor’s been trapped in a glass bubble. Mugs thinking as they touch down on tables, casual chatter, a high-pitched laugh.

“Victor,” Felix says gently. “I’m asking this because I care, not because I’m trying to be nosy. What happened in New York that fucked you up so bad?”

Victor turns and lays his palms flat against the counter, leans forward, the words building like gunpowder’s been lit behind them, but before he can explain himself, Victor hears the door open. He peers around Felix and his heart drops.

It’s Gabe. He’s forgotten all about him since their first meeting but here he is, dark hair accentuated by a pair of headlights that hit him from the back, soft smile already splayed across his lips. Victor swallows and pushes off from the counter.

“Hi, Victor,” Gabe says as he approaches the register. “Good to see you again.”

He taps at the register, pretending to be doing something important. “Yeah, you too.”

Felix has a suspicious frown on his face as he glances back and forth between Victor and Gabe. He clears his throat.

“Oh! Uh. Gabe, this is my best friend, Felix. Felix, Gabe.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Gabe says and sticks out his hand.

Felix shakes it, caution playing in his eyes, but he smiles back regardless. “You two, are, uh…friends?”

“Not really,” Gabe says with a laugh. “I’m more of a _fan_ if anything.”

Victor wants to cut his own cheeks off; he can’t help the heat that prickles at his pores. “I told you, there’s nothing special about my coffee. It’s the same as every other barista’s.”

“He’s being humble,” Gabe says to Felix out of the corner of his mouth. “The other night, this guy made me the best cappuccino I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” Felix says. “Um. Yeah, he’s pretty good, I guess.”

Victor fails to conceal a snort of laughter and tries to turn it into some kind of strange cross between a sneeze and a cough. He tucks his face into the crook of his elbow, hoping his face will have returned to a normal color when he emerges.

“I’m sure you won’t shocked to hear I’m back for another,” Gabe says, “just like I said I would be.”

Victor nods and pauses for a second, holding onto his soul so it doesn’t depart his earthly figure. “Coming right up,” he says. “You’re paying for it this time, though.”

“I _wanted_ to pay last time,” Gabe argues, “but this one was in the throes of some kind of hero complex,” he says, nudging Felix with his elbow like he’s in on the joke.

“Haha,” Felix offers, but Gabe doesn’t seem to be put off by the fake laughter whatsoever. “I’m confused. How long have you two known each other, again?”

Victor is about to answer, but Gabe beats him to it. “Long enough to know that Victor’s cappuccinos belong in a museum.”

He’s glad to be busy behind the espresso machine as another rose wave hits his face.

“That’s…not really how museums work? And what exactly has you craving caffeine at—” Felix checks his watch, “almost nine at night?”

Gabe shrugs. “I’m a night owl, I guess. Last time it was for a final project, but now my sleep schedule is sort of messed up. I’m hoping maybe I can stay awake through the night and all through tomorrow, and then go to bed at my normal time.”

“Does that work?” Victor asks as he sprinkles a bit of cinnamon on top of Gabe’s drink.

“In a pinch, sure,” Felix says quickly, then turns back to Gabe. “You’re not a Creekwood student, then?”

“Nope,” Gabe says, then grins as Victor hands him the to-go cup. As he swipes his credit card Felix leans in, expectant Gabe to elaborate, but he’s just met with another chipper smile. Gabe lifts the cup as if giving a toast, then walks backward toward the door. “Well, I got what I came for. Night, y’all!”

“Goodnight!” Victor calls after Gabe as he turns, a dopey grin on his face.

Once the door closes, Felix turns to Victor, legs crossed, tips of his fingers pressed together. “So. Care to explain?”

“I—you—explain what?” Victor splutters.

Felix narrows his eyes. “Listen, I know I’m not particularly efficient on picking up social cues,” he says with exaggerated diction, “but that boy was flirting with you.”

“What?”

“ _And_ you flirted back.”

Victor tosses a hand at Felix and shakes his head. “He’s just friendly, Felix.”

“And dreamy.”

“And what if he is? There’s no harm in looking, is there?”

Felix crosses his arms. “Victor…”

“Please don’t lecture me right now. My entire life is a bullshit mess, and there’s a cute customer who hypes up my cappuccinos. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. And even if it _did_ , Benji dumped _me_. So.”

A tense silence brews between them as Victor washes out the milk pitcher. When he turns, Felix is still eyeing him with skepticism.

“ _Nothing is going to happen with this random customer_ ,” Victor assures him, throwing his hands up and laughing. “He just makes me feel good, okay? Like maybe, someday, I’ll be able to move on from all of this and actually be happy with somebody.”

“Fine, fine,” Felix says, and he’s gone from suspicious to amused. “Just don’t start leaving him hearts in the foam.”

“Because that’s tacky?”

“Because your foam hearts look like deformed butts.”

Victor scoffs and drops his jaw in faux offense, then swats at Felix with his towel. The moment slides into place, one pristine piece in an otherwise blemished puzzle, a blip of laughter and recompense and remission.

* * *

After triple checking the schedule to ensure he won’t run into Benji, Victor decides that studying at home is just not working and hauls himself to Brasstown. His hope is that the white noise buzz of patrons and the smell of coffee will help him focus in better.

At this point, he feels fairly confident that he’ll be scoring _at least_ B’s on his two make-up exams, and if he really pushes himself, he could even make A’s. Either way, in twenty-four short hours, he’ll be nearly on the other side of things and hopefully his sophomore year will be behind him.

Victor feels much more secure in his English grade and has turned his attention to trigonometry. He’s worked through just about every practice problem in his textbook and is growing more and more frustrated that he keeps mixing up tangent and cotangent.

He almost falls out of his chair when a voice says, “Is this seat taken?”

Victor looks up to see Gabe grinning at him, a steaming mug held carefully in his hand.

“Oh. Hey,” Victor says, too preoccupied with mathematics to be phased by the boy in front of him, or the fact that he usually takes his coffee to go but decided to stick around today. “Nobody’s sitting there, no.”

“Do you mind?”

Victor looks at the empty chair, back to Gabe, then sighs. “Go ahead,” he says and closes his textbook.

“What are you working on?” Gabe asks. “I thought Creekwood was done with classes?”

“Right,” Victor says and scratches the back of his neck. “So…the thing is…I failed two of my finals, so I have to retake them.” He’s not sure what it is about Gabe that makes this information slip out of him so easily, but there it is, lying on the table between them.

“Ah, gotcha,” Gabe says and takes a sip of his drink. He looks upward in thought, then smacks his lips quietly and shakes his head. “Nope, not as good as yours.”

Despite the series of knots in his chest, Victor smiles. “It’s all in your head. You’re making yourself believe that it’s something it’s not.”

“Okay, and what if I am?”

Victor laughs. “Well, you’d really be missing out on every other cappuccino out there, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm, I guess so,” Gabe says, giving Victor an odd, knowing sort of look over the rim of the mug as he takes another sip. “When do you retake your exams?”

Victor thunks his forehead on the table. “Tomorrow. I’m just ready to get it over with at this point.”

“On a Sunday? That seems cruel.”

“It is,” Victor mumbles against the wood. “ _And_ I have to come and work a closing shift afterward, which just makes everything more annoying. But I did it to myself.”

“I’m sure you had good reason to be struggling.”

Victor lifts his face. “Well, sort of. That doesn’t make it okay for me to just stare at my test for two hours and not write anything down.”

Gabe shrugs. “Stuff happens. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Victor says, watching with discretion as Gabe drinks down his coffee. “How’s the sleep thing going?”

Gabe frowns. “What? Oh! Right! I’ve been awake for…” His eyes roll upward as he counts. “About twenty-four hours at this point. It’ll be thirty-six by the time I can actually sleep again.”

Victor lets out a low whistle and leans back. “Sounds like a bad time.”

“It’s not so bad,” Gabe says and cocks his head to the side. He reaches across the table and lays a hand gently on top of Victor’s. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Victor battles down a stray swarm of butterflies, but doesn’t recoil from the touch. “You’re kind of a weird guy, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” Gabe says with a wry smile, which twists into a look of concern when he looks past Victor’s head.

Victor follows his gaze, turning in his chair, and the sunlight shatters into jagged fragments when he sees Benji standing just inside the doorway to Brasstown. Eyes big, lips downturned, keys in hand. Victor wrenches his hand away from Gabe’s touch.

“Benji,” he breathes, because that’s as much as he can give, if he tries to say Benji’s name any louder his vocal cords might shred against each other, the ground beneath his feet might crumble and suck him down.

Benji just shakes his head and turns away, rushing toward the counter.

“Benji, wait,” Victor half-shouts, half-whispers as he leaps from his seat and follows Benji into the back room. “I’m sorry,” he says, which causes Benji to startle; maybe he hadn’t realized Victor followed. “I thought you weren’t working today.”

Benji just looks at him, bottom lip quivering.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Victor repeats. His voice breaks. He wants nothing more than to take Benji into his arms, feel the sturdy weight, inhale the scent of Benji’s conditioner, the familiar body against his own.

“Who the hell is that guy?” Benji says, his voice strained.

Victor shakes his head. “Nobody, Benji. He’s just a customer who’s taken a liking to me or something, I don’t know—”

“Oh, he’s taken a _liking_ to you?”

“I don’t understand—”

“You won’t fucking _talk_ to me, Victor! Ever since that article dropped, all you’ve done is ignore me, and lie to me, and make me worry that you’ve gone and done something absolutely insane. _You disappeared_!” Benji says, eyes welling with tears, as he takes a step toward Victor. “Do you know what went through my head until I knew you were safe?”

“Benji—”

“And then I show up here and find you hanging out with _some other guy_?”

“It’s not like that!”

“ _Bullshit!_ How am I supposed to believe you?” He throws his hands up and turns in a circle, then faces Victor again. “You know what? I don’t even fucking care. I’m _done_ with this. I have too much of my own _shit_ to deal with right now. I just…don’t have room for you anymore.”

Victor doesn’t remember when the tears started, but they drip steadily from his chin, salty icicles melting from his irises. He opens his mouth to say something, but his mind has gone completely blank. Benji stands before him, two perfect, glistening lines carved down his face, his chest heaving and his fists clenched.

Without another word, Victor bolts out of the back room, throws all of his belongings into his backpack, and sprints home, tears catching the sunlight like so many crystals as he flies across the sidewalk.

It isn’t until later that day when he realizes Gabe was nowhere to be found by the time Victor hastily departed Brasstown, and when this thought crosses his mind, he shoves his knuckles into his eyes until he sees stars, because why should he give a single fuck?

* * *

It’s bizarre to be walking through a vacant Creekwood High. The halls smell like cleaning products; Victor’s shoes squeak against the floor as he searches for the correct classroom. He’s a bit early, but he got tired of sitting around at home and running through formulae in his head.

He pokes his head into the room. Great. First one here. He chooses a desk by the windows, grateful that the glass is propped open. A warm breeze carries across the lawn outside and into the room.

Right as he sits, a teacher he doesn’t know enters the room. He’s old— _really_ old, Victor thinks—and carries himself with a particular crotchety energy, his back hunched and his features drawn into a permanent scowl.

“Name,” he barks as he slaps down a stuffed manila folder.

“Uh, Victor. Salazar,” he says, suddenly nervous.

The man doesn’t introduce himself, just sniffs and rifles through the papers. “Two?”

“Yeah. Yes, sir,” Victor adds stupidly.

“Right. You’ll take exactly two hours for each, no more, no less. I don’t have the energy to keep track of separate clocks, so you’ll wait until the others arrive.”

“The others?”

The man gives him a bemused look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “What, you think you’re the only delinquent at Creekwood?”

“Point taken,” Victor whispers to himself. He lines up his pencils in front of him carefully and watches the clock, now regretting being so punctual. He drums his fingers, pulse twitching.

Another boy enters the room, his eyes sunken and his reddish-brown hair unkempt.

“Hey, Mr. Brennan,” he says with mock respect. “How’s your summer so far?”

“Shitty. Real shitty, Kyle. I’m here proctoring these tests.”

“And I’m here taking one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Brennan says as he finds another packet of papers stapled together. “Go sit your ass down, Kyle. For once, you’re here before time starts.”

Kyle turns away from the desk and his eyes land on Victor. He lingers there for a moment, his lips drawn back into a sort of sneer. He’s probably read the article. Whatever. Victor has too much banking on these two stupid exams to let some asshole throw him off his game.

As Kyle chooses a desk opposite the side of the room, two other students enter the classroom, a girl and another boy.

“Names?” Mr. Brennan says without looking up, and the process repeats; he looks through the folder and procures their respective exams.

Finally, the minute hand reaches a vertical position and Mr. Brennan grunts as he pushes out of his chair. He walks around and hands out the tests. Victor winces when he slaps down his English exam.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I start with the other one?” Victor asks timidly. He’d been hoping to get trigonometry out of the way.

Mr. Brennan shoots him daggers.

“Actually, this is fine. Thank you,” Victor says, already sweating as he turns to his exam and begins.

* * *

Nearly four grueling hours later, Victor is the last student left in the classroom. Afternoon has baked the world twice over already, the summer weather moving in at a breakneck pace.

Victor walks up to the desk, too tired to be intimidated anymore.

“Finished?”

He nods.

“You sure? You’ve got another twenty minutes.”

“If I have to look at these questions for another second I think I’ll lose it.”

Mr. Brennan snorts. “Fair enough. Enjoy your summer,” he says, eyes still down.

“Thanks. You too,” Victor says. He’s almost out of the classroom when Mr. Brennan’s voice stops him.

“And kid? Keep your head up.”

Victor turns back and they make eye contact for a brief second, then Mr. Brennan turns back to the papers he’s grading.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He gives a noncommittal grunt and the conversation is over. Victor slips out of the classroom, pencil digging into his thigh from the way he’s stuffed it into his pocket, but all of the beasts digging holes in his chest seem to have fled. The sun shines in glaring slivers off the polished walls, the floor, and even though the phantom of an ache stampedes through Victor’s torso as he remembers the last time he walked through these halls, part of him knows he’s been freed of something. Clipped wings now equipped with backup feathers, spread wide in anticipation of an updraft.

* * *

Whatever hellion abandoned Victor following his exams has left an aching hollow. His shift at Brasstown is a demon in its own right; all he can think about is the look in Benji’s eyes, the words that are cutting away at Victor bit by bit. And he wonders how anybody is _ever_ supposed to find himself like this, when it seems all the world does is steal and sever and splice, and every time he finds something that might be good, might be true, inevitably it will be wrenched out of his ever-slackening grip.

It’s been a slow day, which he would appreciate under normal circumstances. But in this current headspace, Victor would much prefer to drown himself in brown liquid, shove all of his personal business out of his head and hone in on ridiculously complicated orders and entitled customers. Instead, he’s had plenty of time to think back on better times in Brasstown. And it doesn’t take any amount of trigonometry to realize there’s a common denominator in all of those memories.

Victor sighs when someone enters, grateful to have a distraction as the seconds tick closer to closing time. And then his gratitude crumbles when he sees that it’s Gabe. He drifts around he doorway, looking apologetic and bashful. Victor makes a point to ignore him and starts to wipe at an imaginary spot on the counter.

“Hey,” Gabe says, suddenly right in front of him.

Victor hums but doesn’t look up. He shouldn’t be so mad, it’s not _fair_ for him to be so mad, given the fact that he not only allowed Gabe to flirt with him, but also encouraged it by returning the energy. Right now, though, he wants nothing to do with this guy.

“Look, I don’t know what happened yesterday, but I remembered you said you were working a closing shift, and I just wanted to come by and apologize.”

Victor begrudgingly abandons his charade. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, teeth clenched. “Cappuccino?”

“No, I’m not here for coffee.”

“Then you’re in the wrong place.” Victor immediately regrets being such a dick, but Gabe doesn’t look hurt. Just sympathetic. “Look, I’m sorry if I led you on or something, but I’m not…”

“Not gay?”

Victor sighs. “No, I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“Me either.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temple. “Then what the hell is your deal?”

“I heard about that article.”

“Oh, god,” Victor groans. “Yeah, every fucking person in a ten-mile radius seems to know about it.”

“It’s disgusting, Victor. And then I happened in here and _met_ you, and that just made it all more real.”

“What’s your point?”

Gabe shifts his weight awkwardly. “I just…I thought you at least had someone to lean on in all of this, but I realize now that maybe you don’t, and—”

“I have _plenty_ of people to lean on.”

“I meant someone like you. Someone who gets it.”

Victor blows a frustrated breath through his nose. “Let me get this straight,” he says, all too aware that there’s a gay joke in that statement. “You just want to be my _friend_?”

“Yes,” Gabe says, almost relieved. “Yes, exactly.”

“I have other gay friends, you know. They don’t live around here anymore, but I still have them.”

“So your quota’s been filled, then? No room for more gay friends?”

 _I just don’t have room for you anymore._ Victor relapses into these words, the ones that have slipped spiked tendrils into his mind’s crevices and latched on.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…That guy who came in yesterday—”

“I know who he is. I read the article, remember?”

Victor pauses. “Right. Well, seeing the two of us together just made everything a million times worse.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Did you try explaining?”

“Yeah, but he walked in on you holding my hand.”

Gabe winces. “I’m a very physical person,” he says, then laughs for a second, as if sharing an inside joke with himself. “Sorry,” he mutters when he sees the look on Victor’s face. “But I wasn’t trying to make a _move_ or anything like that.”

“How was _he_ supposed to know that?”

Gabe pauses. “Right. Fair point. Look, can we start over?”

“Why are you so set on being my friend?” Victor asks, once again perplexed that anybody would fight so hard for his sake. “We’ve spoken like, three times total.”

“I don’t know,” Gabe shrugs. “My school isn’t super gay friendly. Especially because I’m Latino, it makes things that much harder. You just seem like somebody who might get it.”

Victor takes a moment to mull this over. He hadn’t even considered that aspect. His phone starts to ring in his pocket, and he pulls it out to take a peek. It’s Mia. He doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth for that right now, so he declines the call. He’ll call her back after close.

“Okay,” Victor says and returns his attention to Gabe. “You _swear_ you just want to be friends?”

“Promise,” Gabe says and holds out his pinky.

Victor laughs. “Really? A pinky swear?”

“Do you want my word or not?”

With another little chuckle, Victor extends his pinky across the counter and links it with Gabe’s. As he pulls away, his phone buzzes again.

**_Mia_ ** _: Victor, I need you to call me back. Right now. Like RIGHT NOW. PLEASE. [9:54 PM]_

“Uh, can you just excuse me for a second?” Victor asks, his hands shaking. The text is urgent, and suddenly a thousand worst case scenarios fly through his head, colliding, sending showers of black sparks though the air. Victor presses the phone button beside her name and raises the phone to his ear.

It rings once, then halfway through the second, Mia picks up. “Victor,” she breathes.

“Mia, what the hell is going on?” Victor asks. Gabe’s distant glance of concern isn’t helping his nerves at all.

“Victor, it’s Benji.”

It seems like every light in the building burns out, the walls expand and contract, the world morphing around Victor as those words sink in.

“What do you mean?”

Mia’s voice is preceded by a muffled sob. “He’s in the hospital, Victor.”


	13. Junction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JUNCTION; _n_. — a place or point where two or more things meet or converge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter....that shit HURTED :,( But there are also subtly good things about it so it's not just angstfest!
> 
> ALSO, I am now on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/0negayslytherin)! I've been having a lot of fun interacting with some of y'all there 🥺
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter and I am VERY excited to hear your thoughts on this one!!! Enjoy <3

“Victor, you have to slow down.”

Mia is two paces behind him, their footsteps muted in the crowded parking lot. Directly after the phone call, she’d rushed to Brasstown to collect Victor. He ushered Gabe away, unable and unwilling to explain why, and practically launched himself into the passenger seat of Mia’s car as she pulled up.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she told him as she pulled away from the curb, headlights refracting in her teary eyes.

Hardly able to breath, Victor asked her, “What did he do?”

Gaze locked on the road and jaw clenched, Mia had simply shrugged. “His mom wouldn’t tell me. Just that he was in the hospital.”

This led to an entire saga of Mia explaining how her and Benji have been spending a lot of time together, against all odds. They’d bonded over their shared love of art, and Mia found herself at Benji’s house once, then twice, then almost daily in Victor’s absence. Filling the gasping vacuum he created.

Victor was in a daze for most of the drive, but from what he retained of Mia’s exposition, he knows that Benji’s parents are both out of town and won’t be able to to be back in Atlanta until the morning, and that Mia and he are the only other people who know.

So now he’s practically sprinting across the pavement, cursing every car that’s filling a spot closer to the building. “No,” he grunts back. He ignores Mia’s watery sigh and the sound of her pace accelerating to match his, eyes locked on the golden glow pouring out of the double glass doors that serve as the hospital’s entrance.

“Victor, please,” Mia says and grabs his arm.

He whirls, a tear flung in a graceful arc through the warm, humid night. “ _What_?”

Mia flinches back from him and releases her grip. “I just…”

“You just _what_?” he demands, patience balancing on the final thread of a frayed rope.

“Nothing,” she says and shakes her head. “Let’s go.”

He gives her a look, wondering what she was going to say, but too worried about the situation at hand to delve into interpolation. They glide through the doors, the air inside cool and sterile, and rush up to the front desk.

The nurse behind the computer is a slight, mousy man, hair the color of straw, eyes small and beady, too far apart. A corded phone is tucked between his shoulder and chin as he types something, looking unamused. He gives a fraction of a glance toward Victor and Mia, then raises a finger to request patience.

Victor bounces up and down on his heels and turns his head, left, right, left, scanning the waiting room but not really processing any of the visual input. All he can picture is Benji, crumpled, bloody, and the fact that his condition has been left at “He’s gonna be okay,” has his nerves writhing and white-hot.

“Mm-hmm,” the man says into the phone with a barely perceptible roll of his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, that’s correct. No. No, we don’t offer that as a service.” He pauses. Victor looks at his name tag: _Brian_. Victor clears his throat and leans forward slightly, which earns him a reproachful look and another stern pointer finger. “What would I suggest? Are you familiar with gummy vitamins?” A bemused expression crosses his face; an angry voice chirps from the receiver, loud enough for Victor to hear the tone but not the words. Then it goes quiet.

Brian sets the phone in its cradle, sighs and turns to them, finally. “How can I help you kids?”

“We’re here to see Benjamin Campbell,” Mia says before Victor can. “His parents called ahead and gave us visitation permission.”

The nurse raises an eyebrow and looks between them. “All right, I’ll check on that,” he says. Victor is furious to hear doubt in his voice, condescension. Brian taps on his keyboard and hums to himself; he pauses, then exhales through his nose.

“Mia Brooks? Victor Salazar?” he asks in a monotone.

“That’s us,” Mia says and inches closer to Victor to subtly tap his elbow. He looks down and realizes he’s been bouncing his left leg up and down violently. He stops.

“I’ll just need a form of identification to confirm,” Brian says and stifles a yawn.

Victor wants to have sympathy for the guy—he must deal with the craziest of crazy working second shift—but his attitude is rubbing raw against Victor’s vulnerable, exposed state of mind.

Mia reaches into her pocket and deposits her driver’s license onto the counter. Victor doesn’t have his yet (despite turning sixteen months ago his priorities have been a bit different than he anticipated) so he meekly places his Creekwood High ID next to Mia’s card.

Brian slides Mia’s ID closer, gives it a bored once-over, then returns it to her. He raises an eyebrow when he sees Victor’s; he’s about to respond and beg that the nurse accepts it, but he must not be completely devoid of sympathy. He just blows out another loud breath through his nose, nostrils flaring, and returns Victor’s card.

“One second,” Brian says with a wan smile, then picks up the phone. He gently knocks his teeth together as it rings; the sound burrows into Victor’s skin and makes him itch. With a snap, the nurse’s face changes and his tone becomes cheerful. “Hi, Doctor Polkman, couple of visitors for patient two-two-eight-six. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup. I’ll let them know. Yeah, of course, buh-bye,” he says with a chuckle as he hangs up the phone.

Victor and Mia exchange a glance; Brian had _definitely_ been flirting with this Doctor Polkman.

“So. You’re gonna have to wait just a few minutes,” he says, his tone flat and gray once more. “He’s only just come out of surgery, so there’s a grace period before visitors.”

Victor goes to protest, but Nurse Brian plows forward. “It’s just hospital policy, kid. Reflects absolutely nothing about his condition, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Closing his mouth, Victor takes a small step away from the counter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you have a lot to do,” Mia says. “Would you happen to know how long it’ll be?”

Brian lets loose a full yawn now. “Thirty minutes maximum,” he says around the yawn, voice high and thin. “They’ll call me as soon as the coast is clear, and I’ll let you know. Just take a seat for now.”

“Of course, thank you so much,” Mia says with a little nod that almost looks like she’s bowing. She grabs Victor’s arm and guides him to a seat that’s out of direct view of the front desk. Part of him is irritated, but he knows she’s worried he’ll drive himself mad waiting for that call.

Victor plunks down into a chair, the plastic hard and uncomfortable. Immediately, his leg starts bouncing up and down, almost of its own volition. Mia places a hand on his knee but he doesn’t stop; the nervous energy has to go _somewhere_.

“I know this is hard, but he’s _fine_ , Victor.”

“Obviously he’s not fine if he had to have surgery,” he croaks, throat dry and cracked. “Do you have any idea what he did? Anything at _all_?”

Mia sighs and crosses one leg over the other. “No, but I have some theories, none of which I’m going to run by you because you’ve probably thought them all through yourself. And if you haven’t, the last thing I need to do is give you ideas.”

She’s right, of course. Every conceivable worst-case scenario played out in Victor’s head during the drive, and even some that were completely ludicrous.

“He _was_ really off today, though,” she says quietly. “He wouldn’t tell me why, but I don’t get the feeling that—”

“That it had to do with me?”

Mia blinks. “You heard me correctly, right?”

“Yes. And I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will. I know you’re already beating yourself up over this, even though you’ve done literally nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Victor says, his chin resting on folded hands. “We had a fight yesterday. Well, he mostly just yelled at me and then stormed out. I _deserved_ it,” he clarifies.

“Oh. He…did not tell me that.”

Victor exhales a frustrated breath, whole body vibrating from the motor his leg has become. “So the two of you…” he prods, not sure if he’s too emotionally compromised to bring up the topic but needing to talk about something relatively normal to take his mind off things.

“Yeah. Like I said, we sort of bonded over that group chat we made, and then we just started hanging out. Like, regularly. I mean, we were definitely friendly before that, but never anything like this. At first I thought it would be too hard given everything that happened, but I realized pretty quickly that none of my emotions were directed at him.”

“Just me.”

“Well, yeah. That’s not the point, though. The _point_ is, after the article, Benji _needed_ someone.”

Victor shifts in his chair, switches to bouncing the other leg. He gnaws at his bottom lip, unsurprised when the taste of blood springs into his mouth.

“At first that’s what we talked about, but then it seemed like things were getting better and we realized we have even more in common. We like a lot of the same music. I mean, I like _his_ music, so I guess that made sense. And the art, obviously. He’s not as much into sculpture, but we sort of went back and forth trying to teach each other things about our favorite mediums.”

Victor clears his throat and makes a hasty swipe at the tear that’s eeked out from the corner of his eye. “I’m happy _something_ good came out of all of my fuckups.”

Mia sighs.

“I’m sorry. But I mean it. He deserves someone like you to lean on. You’re really incredible for looking past all of the bullshit,” Victor says, the words hollow, though he wishes he could believe them. Mostly, the flavor of his own brand of medication lingers in the back of his throat, the aftertaste dark and bitter. It’s not the appropriate time to be envious of this new friendship, but he can’t help the imp from gnawing at his bones, feasting on the cartilage in his joints.

Victor sucks in a breath when he hears the phone ring at the front desk. Preemptively, he stands, to which Mia responds with a sigh.

“Visitors for Benjamin Campbell?” Brian’s bored voice calls from around the corner.

He looks down at Mia, who swallows her pride and joins him in standing. They approach the desk, where Brian is already pointing down the hall. “One floor up, keep heading that way and make a left. The room will be down on the right. Two-nine-four.”

“Thanks again,” Mia breaths and turns to go.

“And don’t look so grim,” Nurse Brian says with the first hint of sympathy Victor’s heard from him. “Doctor Polkman is one of our best on staff, so your friend’s in very capable hands.”

Victor gives him one more fierce nod before he and Mia take off down the brightly lit hallway.

* * *

Room 295 sits before them, everything inside still, quiet. The lights on the second floor are dimmer than the first and have a cooler tint to them, staining the hallway an odd sort of purplish-blue.

Victor goes to turn the handle of the door, but his brain hiccups and he steps back. If his intuition proves true, his face should _not_ be the first one Benji sees after waking up. He turns to Mia. “You go first,” he says. “I…I think it would be better for him if you’re his first glimpse of familiarity. Plus, I’m afraid of how _I’ll_ react when I see him.”

“You want me to report back on his injuries?” she asks, and if the situation weren’t so dire, Victor can hear where amusement would underscore the question.

He just sighs and takes another step away. “Actually, yes. Just so I know what to expect.”

Mia nods, then grasps his shoulder. “He’s _okay_ , Victor. Whatever happened, he’s going to be fine. You’re acting like his life is in danger.”

Victor’s eyes flit between Mia’s face and the floor; she drops her arm.

“Hold on. You don’t think that, do you?”

“Well,” he starts, the word scratching against his windpipe, “I just…What if somebody did this to him?”

“Somebody, like—you think the person who posted that article might be behind this?”

Victor shrugs, immediately feeling paranoid. “No! I mean. I don’t know. Is it possible someone would go out of their way to, like, attack him?”

“I guess it’s not _im_ possible,” she says. “Look, let me just go in, figure out what happened, and then we can stop getting all twisted up about the unknown, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Victor says. His chest tightens and his visions blurs for a second. There’s a chair right outside the room that looks only marginally more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room. He takes his place there, curling and uncurling his fingers, over and over.

“I’ll try not to be long,” she says. “Until I’m out, just breathe, all right? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I think I am,” Victor says with a little laugh, grateful he can laugh at his own turmoil if nothing else.

And then Mia slips into the room, leaving Victor alone with the buzz of fluorescent lights and the buzzing roar of his own pulse. With a start, he realizes he’d never told his mother that he wouldn’t be coming home. He fires off a quick text, rewriting four of the words (one of them twice in a row) because his fingers are trembling.

 **_Victor_ ** _: Benji is in the hospital, Mia and I rushed to see him. His parents are out of town. I’ll explain more later. [11:23 PM]_

Hoping that’s enough information so that she won’t worry _too_ much, Victor pockets his phone and brings his palms together, then rests his chin in the pocket between his thumbs and pointer fingers. Eyes closed, he sucks in a deliberate breath through his nose, the cool air biting his nasal passages as it enters his lungs; he holds the air for one second, two, three, then parts his lips and allows its escape, now warm and slightly damp as it traipses through his palms.

Victor repeats this, over and over, and eventually finds that his body is more or less under his control. His leg no lounger bounces, and the twisting in his chest has subsided almost entirely. The zen spell is broken when his stomach growls. He can’t help but smile to himself. He’d meant to go home and have a late dinner after his shift, but clearly this situation had taken precedent.

The door opens. Victor leaps from the chair, the anxiety he’d worked so hard to stave off rushing in like someone’s pulled his stopper. “So?”

Mia looks at him, her lips pressed together. “He doesn’t look _that_ bad. There’s a pretty nasty cut on his face, and his arm is in a brace, but that’s most of what you can see.”

“And what happened?”

“I think you should ask him yourself.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

She nods.

“Are you sure he wants to see me?”

“It was hard to tell. He tried to poker face me. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or just in pain.”

Victor huffs. This is ridiculous, standing here asking all of these questions, when he knows Benji is sitting on the other side of this door.

“Okay. Wish me luck,” he says.

Mia pulls him into a tight hug. “Good luck,” she whispers. Then Victor presses down the handle of the door and steps into Benji’s room.

* * *

The door hisses shut behind him, sealing off the world. Sealing him in.

Victor turns; Benji’s eyes are closed, one hand over the other in his lap. Victor approaches the bed, one member of a matching set of similar poles, each step seeming to push him further and further into himself.

In the bed, Benji looks like a sallow phantom of himself. Wires connect him to a machine, a pole beside his bed dripping fluids into his arm via IV.

Benji’s eyes flutter open but remain fixed on his own extremities, his left hand wrapped from palm to half a foot below his wrist. A stretch of gauze covers the left side of his face, so Victor doesn’t even have to see the gash. Still, both of his eyes are a bit bruised, his lip split. There’s another large bruise peeking out from his right clavicle; Victor imagines it travels down, down, down, to Benji’s abdomen, to his hips, the body Victor used to wrap his arms around, the one that always felt indestructible.

“Benji,” Victor breathes. Time has stopped, the Earth’s very rotation has stopped, and it feels like the past month never happened, like Victor could lean down and kiss him and find a way to make everything better.

Then Benji looks at him, and the depth of anguish in his eyes cuts deep, excavates something wretched from Victor’s core. Tears spring immediately to his eyes, the hot liquid stinging.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Benji says. His voice is hoarse. More importantly, Victor can tell he doesn’t mean it, that he’s saying it because of some strange compulsion.

“I had to,” Victor replies and lowers himself into the chair beside Benji’s bed. It’s still slightly warm. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Go on with your life, just like you’ve been doing.” The words are slightly slurred; Benji must still be groggy from the anesthesia, from whatever pain medication rushes through his bloodstream to protect him from the agony of his own healing.

“Benji, what _happened_? Mia wouldn’t tell me.”

Benji laughs cynically and shakes his head. “Of course not. It has to come directly from me, right?”

She hadn’t said this in so many words, but the sentiment tracks.

“Do you remember what I told you? That night in Willacoochee?”

Victor’s head has been dunked into an icy bath. He comes up spluttering, the breath knocked out of him. Of course he’s considered it, but he didn’t think it was actually _possible_.

“It happened again. No, it didn’t _happen_ ,” he corrects himself. “I _did_ this, Victor. Again. I did this to myself.”

He grips the sides of the chair; the floor seems to evaporate beneath him, leaving him falling free. “You…” Victor starts to ask, but he can’t seem to bring himself to say the word.

“I relapsed, Victor. Big time. I’ll probably never drive again,” Benji says with another dark chuckle. “And I don’t know if I even _want_ to.” He wags his head back and forth and runs a hand through his hair. “Although I managed to avoid public property this time and overturn my car in a ditch like a true degenerate, so there’s less legal shit involved.”

Victor takes in a stuttering breath, half terrified and half relieved. “I couldn’t shake the thought that someone…I mean, after the article.”

Benji’s eyes widen. “You thought I got hate crimed?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know what to think.”

“Well, I didn’t. This was all me.”

“But… _Why_?” Victor asks with muted horror.

Benji licks his lips and turns his gaze on Victor, serrated and laser-focused. “Because I was falling. And I needed something to catch me. I knew the landing would be rough, but at least I _would_ land. Instead of crashing.”

“Mia?”

“Is a _new friend_ , Victor. It doesn’t matter how much shit she’s been through with you, how much she’s been there for me. I wasn’t ready to tell her, and I didn’t think it would be fair if I did. She knows now, obviously.”

Victor inches forward, vision swimming. The question proofing on his tongue is going to be the hardest one to ask, the hardest answer to receive. “Benji, is this…my fault?”

There’s a silence. “Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Benji says, but his performance is unconvincing, and his hesitance betrays him. “Ever since that fucking article, this has been creeping closer and closer. It was inevitable, I think. I’m lucky to be alive. And because I know you’re gonna ask: concussion, sprained wrist, three broken ribs, assorted internal bleeding, some pretty nasty bruising up and down my legs, and eighteen stitches in my face.”

Victor gasps, a pair of tears swan-diving from his lids. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Me either,” Benji says and shifts awkwardly in bed.

Victor stands. “Here, let me help,” he says, half expecting Benji to snap at him, tell him to stay away. But he just breathes—a labored, harsh sound—as Victor adjusts a pillow behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says once he’s seated again, once a tense moment of silence has dawned and set. “What you saw the other day, it really wasn’t what it looked like.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he wants to punch himself in the throat; yes, this is exactly what Benji wants to be discussing in this moment.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Obviously it does.”

Benji shakes his head and Victor’s guts flip inside out when a tear burrows down Benji’s left cheek.

“I’m so humiliated,” Benji whispers and crams his eyes shut. “I thought stuff like this was behind me, and now it’s like I’m back where I started. Except I’m worse off now,” he says. His eyes open again. A withering look toward Victor. “Why did you have to cut yourself off like that?” Rain taps at the window. Victor can tell Benji is trying to be angry at him, and maybe he is, but it’s somewhere beneath the sorrow that rides heavy on his words.

Victor shrugs, then swipes a forearm across his eyes to dry them. “I didn’t know what to do. You slipped away and it was my fault, and I…I couldn’t face that.”

“But I _needed_ you,” Benji whimpers. “We needed _each other_. Who else could know what it feels like to be targeted like that?”

 _Simon_ , Victor thinks, but keeps his lips pressed together.

“There’s something different about you,” Benji says. He’s stopped crying but the tears have coated his throat, every word he speaks briny and damp. “Victor…what the hell happened in New York?”

Victor swallows something spiny in the back of his mouth, winces as the feeling travels his esophagus. As of now, the only people who know that information are Simon, Bram, and Abby. There’s a whirlpool of an urge in Victor, flaying him in circles; if he has to speak the words, it makes it _real_. It means it’s not just contained in New York, a blip of terror caught under a glass, scurrying around, desperate to escape.

“Please tell me,” Benji says. “If not for my peace of mind, for yours. I _heard_ something, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions—”

“I watched someone die,” Victor blurts. His stomach rolls as a punch of nausea collides with his insides.

Benji’s eyes widen; he must be holding his breath, because in the moments of shocking silence that pass between them, the sound of his labored breathing is inaudible. “W-what? What did you just say?”

Victor turns in his seat and looks to the door, then the window, around the room, suddenly feeling trapped. “There was a robbery that went wrong. I was just across the street on the phone with you, and Simon had gone to get food, and this guy attacked an old woman and…he shot her.”

“Victor. Holy shit.”

Some spacial rend tears open inside Victor; he leans forward as he begins to sob, each convulsion of his chest another clap of gunfire in his head. He’s vaguely aware that Benji has shifted to the edge of the bed, has reached out and placed a tentative hand on Victor’s bobbing shoulder.

For what feels like hours, the only sound in the room is the gentle beep of the monitor Benji is hooked to and Victor’s strangled moans. Finally, he’s expended all he can. Seeing Benji like this has slit him top to bottom; grief flows from him red and viscous, and with it, all of the poison dwelling in his head, lurking in his muscles, seeping from his marrow.

“I’m so sorry,” Benji says.

Victor rights himself; his throat burns, eyes sting, and another punch lands in his abdomen when he sees that Benji is crying with him. Victor raises his hand to meet Benji’s on his shoulder, then tilts and lowers his face so his forehead rests where they overlap.

“ _What the fuck happened to us_?”

Benji shrugs and sniffles. “The world happened, Victor. This world isn’t a happy place. People like us don’t get happy endings.”

Victor wants to dispute this. After all, Simon and Bram aren’t so different from the two of them, and in Victor’s eyes they’re on a bullet train to the happiest kind of ending that exists. But something about Benji’s assertion, how _sure_ he sounds, sells Victor a thousand times over. There will be no happy ending.

“I’m so sorry for disappearing, Benji,” Victor says. “I was scared, and I was hurt, and I just thought talking to you would make things worse. I didn’t want to burden you with even more.”

Benji nods. “I understand that. I just wish you would’ve _told_ me that, instead of running away.”

And Victor remembers this is what led to their demise to begin with, this tendency to turn heel and sprint without pause for consideration. He always thought he was running toward something better, hoped that when he rounded the corner there would be something glittering on the other side. But he has nothing to move toward at this point. Everything is in front of him, _Benji_ is _right_ in front of him, and all he can do is plant his feet and resist the primal urge to flee.

“Did you mean what you said?” Victor asks.

“Can you be more specific?”

“You said that maybe we could start over eventually,” Victor says, his lips numb.

Benji sighs and pulls his hand away. “I…don’t know, Victor. I _did_ mean it at the time, I really did, but things have changed a lot since that day. I don’t think _either_ of us are in a good place to try again right now.”

“I don’t mean right now,” Victor says, though a juvenile part of him was holding on to a feeble, gossamer hope that maybe Benji would see that the world is trying to shove them back together. “Just…someday. Losing us, and then almost losing you _completely_ —” Victor holds back another sob. The idea that, in a single moment, Benji could’ve ceased to exist, vanished forever, causes Victor’s heart to falter.

“Hey,” Benji says gently and wipes a tear away from Victor’s face. “But you didn’t, did you? I’m still here.”

Victor nods and pulls in a deep breath.

“Look,” Benji says, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I appreciate you coming, even with things being so strange between us right now. I’m just… _I missed you_ ,” he admits, his voice rising, hooded with the threat of another parade of tears. “And I know it hurt when I ended things, but then that article got posted, and it felt like all the rules changed. I have no idea how we’re supposed to be…”

“Be what?”

Benji shrugs. “Just. How we’re supposed to _be_. Nothing feels like enough. I can’t be with you in the way I was, and that’s for the sake of both of us. I…have a lot of recovery ahead of me, and after what _you’ve_ been through, I can’t put you through it, too. But the idea of not seeing you, of you walking out of here without looking back—” He stops himself, shakes his head. “I can’t stomach that, either.”

Victor doesn’t know what to say. He just watches as Benji’s eyelids droop, reminded that he’s practically sedated, that he could wake up and regret saying any of this. Or not remember it.

“I’m staying the night,” Victor decides in a snap, though he hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.

Benji lifts his eyebrows. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Victor says and leaves his seat before he can change his mind. He pokes his head out into the hallway, where Mia is curled up in the same chair where he’d waited.

She looks up at him, concern hatching fresh in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not really sure how to answer that. I’m staying here for the night. You can leave if you want,” he tells her, closing the door behind him. “You should, actually. Go sleep in your own bed, get some actual rest.”

Mia sighs. “Victor—”

“He doesn’t have anybody else, Mia. His parents won’t be here until tomorrow. He shouldn’t have to sleep here alone.”

She presses her lips into a thin line, then stands. “You’re sure about this?”

“No, but I’m staying anyway.”

With a little chuckle, she takes a step forward and throws her arms around his neck. “Please try to get some sleep,” she says into his shoulder. “You look like you need it.”

“I feel like it, too,” he responds.

Mia steps back and studies him for a second. “You’re good for each other,” she says thoughtfully.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Victor says, scratches at the back of his head.

“Mm, no, I’m usually pretty right about stuff like this. You’ll see.”

Victor gives her a skeptical look.

“Well, you have to be _patient_. But if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

“How can you be so supportive of this?”

She shrugs. “Because there are just some relationships that… _have it_. Looking back, that wasn’t us. But it _is_ you and Benji.”

Victor sighs and glances at the door. She’s inflating him with hope, and he knows he would be foolish to hold onto it, but he can’t remember the last time he felt so warm and light, a feather drifting upward on the updraft of a hot spring.

“Text me if you need anything, okay? And tell Benji I’m rooting for him.”

“I will. Thanks, Mia. Let me know when you’re home. Drive safe,” he calls after her and she disappears down the hallway.

Victor shoots a quick text to his mother—she hasn’t even read the first one yet; she must be asleep already—to let her know that he won’t be back until tomorrow, and then slips back into Benji’s room.

There’s a strange tension in the air now, maybe because he knows Mia is no longer on the other side of the wall. “Mia’s headed home,” Victor explains as he returns to his chair. “She says she’s rooting for you.”

Benji surrenders to a weak smile and nods. “She’s the best.”

“Yeah, she really is,” Victor says, cycling through memories he thought he’d discarded. When he returns to reality, Benji is watching him carefully, his eyes half closed. “When are your parents getting in?”

Benji stifles a yawn. “Not until nine or so tomorrow, I think. There are bad thunderstorms up north that are preventing flights from leaving.”

Victor nods and tries to position himself so he won’t wake up with a messed up back or a sore neck. It’s the most comfortable of the series of chairs he’s inhabited tonight, but that isn’t saying very much.

For a few minutes, the two boys just look at each other, their breathing in sync, the cool, dim glow around them shiny on Benji’s cheekbones. Victor shivers; it’s a warm night outside, but the air conditioning leaves the hospital feeling like a particularly hygienic tundra.

“The doctor said nobody would be checking on me until tomorrow morning,” Benji says, his gaze suddenly on his lap.

Victor frowns. “What do you mean?”

And Benji turns to him, longing bursting from his eyes, infinite and lustrous. “You shouldn’t have to sleep in that chair.”

“Benji,” Victor starts, but Benji stops him.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just…I don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow, and I don’t know what I’ll feel when I wake up. But you’re here right now, and I really need somebody next to me right now. You. I need _you_ next to me.”

Victor’s chest tightens again and sweat pokes at his pores despite the chill.

“I’ll set an alarm,” Benji says, the words tumbling clumsily from his lips. “Nobody will have to know.”

Looking to the door, then to Benji, Victor sighs. “You’re sure about this?”

“Please,” Benji says, voice broken, eyes misty. “I don’t think I can take not being in your arms. Just this once. _Please_.”

Victor licks his lips and nods. He pushes his shoes off and rises from the chair, turns off the light, then hobbles awkwardly to the edge of the bed. Benji moves the pillow behind his back and shifts over so Victor can slide in beside him. Benji’s body is warm, heat trapped beneath the thin blanket, and Victor shudders as he positions himself against Benji’s back. An exact mirror of the night on Tybee Island, when Benji had knocked on his door, implored Victor to share his bed.

It all rushes back to Victor in a prismatic flurry, that one perfect day. It had been a lie, a stopgap for reality, but it doesn’t stop his heart from bounding at the memory. Benji behind him, breath on Victor’s neck, his arms so strong around his midsection.

Now Benji feels so frail beside him; he winces as he adjusts his position. Victor gingerly wraps his arms around Benji’s body, left hand coming to rest over his beating heart.

“Do you remember?” Victor asks. He’s about to elaborate, but Benji responds.

“I do. Every second,” Benji whispers, his voice ghostly in the darkness. “I tried so fucking hard to forget, but I couldn’t. I remember. Every day. I remember it all.”

 _I love you_ , Victor mouths, angry that fresh tears have sprung to his eyes. _I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m sorry._

In his arms, Benji’s breathing gradually slows. Victor has the macabre thought that Benji could slip away right here, leave and never come back to him. Then, he starts to snore gently and Victor almost laughs in relief. In the hospital gloom, Victor stares at the back of Benji’s neck, cradles his heart in his palm, and does something he hasn’t done since he moved to Atlanta.

He prays. He thinks about the curves of Benji’s body, the pain in his irises, his lips on Victor’s forehead, his cheeks, his own lips. Holding Benji, keeping him from drifting away, Victor prays to each of Benji’s broken ribs, to each bruise that’s invaded his tender skin, to each and every stitch keeping his face intact. With each breath Benji takes, Victor bears witness to divinity, to the worship of touch, a muted hymn of love and gentle rain and the placid rasp of Benji’s even breathing.

Victor presses his forehead against Benji’s neck. And Victor prays.


	14. Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GENESIS; _n_. — an origin, creation, or beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter is a LARGELY cathartic one for me, and fairly personal too. Drawing on a lot of my own experiences and ideologies here, so I really hope it works when projected onto these characters ;-;
> 
> (cw: discussion of suicide, discussion of religious bigotry against queer people)
> 
> Can't wait to hear your thoughts!! Also, just as a note, the chapter updates MAY be slowing down a good deal. As I'm getting more and more into my classes, I have less time and energy for other writing. I'll try to keep chipping away, but I just wanted to let y'all know that if there's a big gap I haven't disappeared.

Honey-golden light drapes across their frames, pressed tight, breathing in sync. Victor smiles to himself, pulls Benji closer to him and cracks his eyes open, the world painted orange. Outside, the rain has stopped. Another morning has dawned.

Benji shifts in bed, not even wincing as he readjusts onto his fractured ribs. “Good morning,” he murmurs, voice still inundated with sleep. “You stayed.”

“Of course I did,” Victor says, warm beams waltzing from the window to Benji’s face, hazel eyes glimmering. “I never want to leave you again.”

“Are you sure?”

Victor chuckles through his nose, rests his forehead against Benji’s. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. I can’t believe I fucked up as badly as I did.”

“Me either,” Benji says, “I mean, I can’t believe _I_ fucked up so bad. But we’ve made it to the other side, haven’t we?”

“Yeah. We have.”

Benji smiles, his breath warm and slightly sour on Victor’s face. He doesn’t care. Victor wants it all, wants the wake-up kisses, the way his arm is still prickling from Benji sleeping on top of it all night.

“Benji,” Benji says, still smiling.

Victor frowns. “Did you just—”

“Benji,” he says, more insistently, though he’s still smiling.

“What the hell are you—”

“ _Benji_!”

Victor’s eyes snap awake and he inhales a startled breath, the cold air raking his throat. The room is dark and rain patters at the window. Outside, a deep navy purple has bloomed in the sky, signaling the approach of dawn. A dream. It had just been a wishful dream.

And Victor’s awoken into what might as well be a nightmare. In the room with them are three other people, one very obviously Benji’s doctor, and the other two…

Benji’s parents. There’s no mistaking it. His father has a similar frame: on the shorter side, in good shape, his hair slightly more thinned out but the same toasted shade of blond. And his mother—it’s like Benji’s face was copied from hers and adhered to his skull. The same exact eyes, cheekbones, the shape of their mouths. It actually disorients Victor for a second and he wonders if he’s still asleep, if he’s just switched dreams.

Beside him, Benji grunts and untangles his legs from Victor’s under the covers. He blinks sleep out of his eyes while Victor looks between the three newcomers, pulse racing and face on fire.

“What are you doing here?” Benji asks. His words are still a bit fuzzy at the edges.

Benji’s father clears his throat. “The storms let up enough that they let out a few flights. Your mother pulled some strings and made sure we got here as soon as we could.”

Victor is shocked that neither of Benji’s parents are inconsolable; rather, there’s a heaviness in the air, their expressions weary—worried, of course, but ultimately, they both just look _exhausted_.

“Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, I am _so_ sorry—” Victor starts, but Benji cuts him off.

“Victor, calm down. This was my idea. I thought you wouldn’t be back until a few hours later,” Benji says to his parents.

His mother sighs, exasperated. “So this is Victor?”

Benji nods.

 _He’s told his parents about me_. Victor, having never felt quite so humiliated in his life, quickly slides out of bed.

“It’s…nice to finally meet you,” she says. And she sounds genuine, which surprises him. So maybe Benji hasn’t told them _everything._ “Of course, I’d rather the circumstances be a _bit_ more normal.”

He risks a nervous laugh.

“ _So_ ,” the doctor says, clearing his throat. Victor peers at his name tag. _S. Polkman_. The doctor Nurse Brian had been flirting with is a _man_. “I’m very sorry to do this, but I think it’s best if you leave,” he says to Victor. “Typically our patients are not allowed…bedmates,” he says, but there’s sympathy in his voice, like he somehow understands.

“Of course,” Victor says, his head hung. “Really, I’m so sorry. It’s just—I got here so late last night, and Benji didn’t have anybody else, and—”

“Breathe,” Doctor Polkman says. “Look, you’re not in any trouble, okay?”

Victor nods, the tangle of knots in his gut loosening some. He turns to Benji, whose eyes are locked on his own hands, sitting up in bed once more. “Um…I’ll text you?” Victor says.

Benji’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Victor…”

His heart drops before Benji can continue. It’s in his tone, the way he can’t meet Victor’s eye.

“I know I’m the one who asked you to stay last night. But I’m really sorry, I—I don’t think we should…you know. Everything is really confusing right now, and I think we’ll just end up getting hurt even worse if we...”

Victor nods, his eyes filling with tears. “Right. Yeah,” he says, voice hooded with injury. “I hope you feel better. It was nice to meet you both,” he says to Benji’s parents. “Your son is really special.”

Benji’s father raises his eyebrows. “Oh. Yes, he is,” he says and wraps an arm around his wife’s waist. “Are you all right to get home?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, absently digging for his phone. He doesn’t even _want_ to go home; it’s only just past five in the morning, and the last thing he wants to do is wake his mother up and ask her to come get him. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says. He spares Benji one final glance—still, Benji’s eyes are trained elsewhere, now out the window, where there’s only the dark and the damp—then mutters a final, “Sorry,” and stumbles out the door.

* * *

Back in the waiting room, Victor careens into a chair and shoves the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. His attempt to plug up his tears only leaves him with two palmfuls of salty liquid, which he wipes on his pants. Victor takes in a deep breath, sucks the air down all the way to his stomach, and releases.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” comes a voice from his right. It’s an older woman, her gray hair tucked up into a bun away from her tan, wrinkled skin. She looks like she might have been beautiful once—no, Victor decides, she still _is_ beautiful.

He sniffles. “I wish I could believe that.”

She gives him a sad smile. “I’ve been there, sweetheart. But you’ll find yourself on the other side and look back and think to yourself, ‘Maybe it didn’t matter if I didn’t believe. Because here I am.’”

“Um. Thanks,” Victor says, wondering if maybe she’s a bit sleep deprived.

“Of course. I’m Angelina.”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry to intrude like that, but nobody your age should have to be alone during a situation like yours, whatever it may be.”

Victor nods. It’s not such a strange thing to say in a hospital, not even to a stranger. “I appreciate it. Who are you here for?”

“A friend,” she says with a little sigh. “Someone who’s been struggling for a very long time now.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

She nods. “I think he’s going to pull through. His condition has been improving, the doctors say.”

“That’s great,” Victor says. He realizes his pulse has come down, his eyes are dry. “I have to go now, but thank you for speaking up.”

“Of course, honey. Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re drowning until someone comes by on a raft.”

He stands and grins. “Yeah. I guess not. I really hope your friend gets better.”

“Me too,” she says, and she smiles at him like his own mother might. “Me too.”

* * *

Victor steps out onto the sidewalk, humid air clinging to him. Over the parking lot, the sky has bloomed into morning, peachy and delicate. He raises his phone to his ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and it keeps ringing and ringing.

 _He’s not going to pick up_.

As Victor is about to cancel the call, the ringing cuts off and a groggy voice replaces it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Simon. It’s Victor.”

“Victor?” Simon’s voice is more alert now. Victor can just make out the sounds of Simon sliding out of bed. “Are you okay?”

Victor can’t help but laugh. “Not really. I’m at the hospital. I mean, I’m not _in_ the hospital,” he adds quickly. “But Benji is. I…stayed the night.”

“Oh, shit,” Simon says. “Do you need me to come get you?”

A tear sneaks out the corner of Victor’s eye. He brushes it away and clears his throat. Of course Simon would jump out of bed before six in the morning to come save Victor. It’s what he’d been so guiltily banking on, but it still shakes his foundation to know that, despite the world around him falling free, there will always be at least one constant.

“Please,” he says, his voice strained. He collapses onto a bench and retreats into himself, feet planted on the ground but mind drifting upward to meet the orange-cream clouds that are rolling in off the horizon. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for.” Simon’s voice seems to get closer and farther away; Victor realizes he must be on speaker. Simon is getting dressed. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Just sit tight.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course, Victor. See you soon.”

Victor hangs up the phone and tries to force his hand to still, but the trembling won’t be reined in. Around him, the sky is opening up into orchestral color; on any other day, he might be able to appreciate the beauty, but now all he can think about is the shame on Benji’s face, the _regret_.

As another cloud chugs by, he remembers something his mother used to say. It was rare, words only spoken during the off-hand occasion that they were alone in the car together while the sun was setting—though the occurrences were few, the words still stick with him.

“Isn’t the sky beautiful, _mijo_?” she would ask him. “When I see sunsets like this, it reminds me that God is looking out for me. I know that everybody sees the same thing, but I can’t help but feel like He’s doing it just for me, you know?”

Victor never knew how to respond to this, so her words were typically proceeded by a moment of profound silence, of two pairs of eyes tearing chunks out of the clouds, trying to erase the gray and allow the colors to usurp the troposphere.

He looks now up at the sky, at the brilliant warm palette strewn across the open canvas above him. Victor feels _something_ looking at this, wants to believe that there might be something cosmic and omnipotent, yet still tender enough to coax him out of his own depths with a light pink morning sky. But that’s so hard to believe with everything that’s occurred.

Because he’s been told that that’s not _for_ him, that people like him don’t get special sunrises or sunsets, that people like him make choices that lock down their souls for eternity.

Victor realizes with a massive spasm of disgust that he feels _dirty_. He thinks about sleeping beside Benji—just wrapped in each other’s arms, nothing more—and it makes his skin prick, up and down his arms, along his spine. But how could that be _sinful_? The innocent touch, Victor’s presence to comfort Benji through a certifiable trauma.

He rips his eyes from the gradian sky. This is not for him. Benji’s words from the night before clamor in Victor’s ears: _“People like us don’t get happy endings.”_ It’s feeling more and more like that might be the absolute, undeniable truth.

And as much as Victor wants to push away, to shut it all down and rebuke the idea of a higher power altogether…still, there’s a minute but insistent voice tucked away behind his eye sockets. It keeps whispering to him, asking him what he really wants, what he really believes, what he really _feels_.

Because hadn’t holding Benji—listening to his labored, even breaths—felt like worship? Like prayer?

With Benji in his arms, Victor felt closer to the divine than he ever did on his knees in a pew or in the musty dark of a confession booth.

Victor startles when a car pulls up right in front of him and brakes suddenly. The passenger side window slowly retracts and Simon’s face peers at him from across the center console. “Hey,” he says as Victor stands.

“Hey. Thanks for coming.”

Simon waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Victor pulls open the door and slides in, jaw clenched as he tries not to burst into tears.

“Are you okay?” Simon asks, and that’s just enough of a push to send Victor careening.

He cries openly in Simon’s passenger seat, the whole time ripping himself to shreds inside because is this all Simon is to him? Someone to cry to? Someone to call when Victor has nowhere else to go, nobody else to talk to?

When he finally calms down, Simon is studying him. He looks sympathetic, yes, and concerned, but he also seems strangely calm. Like this is what he’s come to expect.

“What happened?” he prods gently.

Victor sniffs and wipes his eyes. Simon shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking lot while Victor explains. Benji’s accident, their conversation, how Benji had begged him to stay and then displayed obvious regret this morning. Meeting Benji’s parents. Finally telling him about New York.

The whole time Simon is silent, though he nods along to indicate he’s listening. Once Victor finishes, Simon takes a deep breath and shakes his head a bit.

“Wow, Vic. I mean. That’s a _lot_.”

Victor nods. “I feel so stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because I actually let myself believe that maybe…” He can’t finish the sentence, but Simon clearly understands what he means; he looks over at Victor with a supportive smile.

“You can’t blame yourself for that. It was wrong for Benji to ask that of you, even considering the state he’s in, and _especially_ because he probably knew even when he asked that he was going to change his tune in the morning.”

Victor sighs and presses his forehead against the window, the glass cool. “I hate him.”

“No you don’t,” Simon says quietly. “Why even say that?”

“Because,” Victor starts, then huffs. “I feel _hatred_ , and I need to direct it somewhere, and I’m so tired of sitting around hating myself for his sake. So I choose to hate him.”

“But why choose hate?” Simon asks as he makes a slow right turn. His tone is casual, like they’re discussing the weather or Victor’s favorite movie. “You do have a choice, you know.”

Victor slumps down in his seat and pulls his knees to his chest. “I know,” he grumbles. “Fine, I don’t really hate Benji. I’m just…really confused about how to feel.”

“And that’s completely fair. He broke up with you, and then asked you to stay the night with him in the hospital. The signals couldn’t be more mixed.”

“I just…I really thought for a minute that maybe things were fixed. But now…”

He can’t even bring himself to say it.

“Now you’re afraid that they never will be?” Simon guesses. “That this has somehow screwed it up forever?”

“Yeah,” Victor croaks. A stray tear makes a dark circle on his shorts. “Because the accident was my fault.”

Simon _tsks_. “That’s not true. Were you the one behind the wheel? Were you the one who decided to drink and drive?”

Victor narrows his eyes as he looks out the window; he has no idea where they’re going. “No, I guess not. Hey, where are we going?”

Simon shrugs. “Nowhere in particular. I was just driving around.”

“Oh. Okay,” Victor says with a sigh. He rests his head against the pane of glass once more. “But if Benji hadn’t seen me with Gabe, and if I hadn’t kept New York from him—”

“Victor,” Simon says; for a second, Victor thinks he’s raised his voice, but he’s actually just speaking around a sudden yawn. “He made his own choices. You were both hurting in different ways after that stupid article was posted, and the timing was horrible, but _he_ still broke up with _you_. So you can’t keep beating yourself up for not wanting to talk to him. This was your first _real_ breakup. Regardless of the circumstances around it, at sixteen, that’s _devastating_.”

“But—”

“No. There’s no ‘but.’ Your pain is valid. The timing of everything is really unfortunate, and I’m truly sorry that things unfolded the way they did, but you’re still going through so much of your own shit right now. Your dad? That therapist who basically tried to brainwash you in one session? Being outed to all of Creekwood? What happened in New York? Any _one_ of those things would break someone down. To be completely honest, I’m a little bit surprised that you’re even sitting here talking to me.”

Victor whips his head around. “What?”

“Well. Victor. You told me you didn’t want to be _alive_.”

He sighs. “Maybe that was true in the moment. I don’t feel that way anymore, though.”

“But what if you do again?” Simon asks and brakes too suddenly, the yellow light above them faltering before it flips to red. Simon grips the wheel and crams his eyes shut. “Maybe it’s weird, and if it is I’m sorry, but I care about you too fucking much Victor. I can’t see anything else go wrong for you. I think I’ll lose my faith that there are good things in the world.”

“Why?” Victor asks, eyes large, voice small.

Simon’s fingers tense around the steering wheel. “Because I know what it feels like to go through what you’ve gone through, to a certain extent. Somebody ripped out a part of you and held it up for the world to see. I wouldn’t even wish it on the worst people in the world. And you’re a _good person_ , Victor,” Simon says, his voice breaking. The light turns green and he pauses for a moment before returning his foot to the gas. “Maybe it’s because I see so much of myself in you, and then I try to stand in your shoes, and…there’s just so much _pain_ , Vic.”

Victor nods, feeling a bit detached from himself.

“How do you even do it?” Simon asks.

Victor’s ribs clench inward when a tear traverses Simon’s cheek. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I should be dead. Maybe I’m an idiot for not offing myself.”

Simon shakes his head. “Please don’t say that,” he says.

The streets are full of light now. A troupe of joggers go by, three women with high ponytails and perfect smiles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Simon says. “And you’re supposed to be. You’re not stupid for living through all of this pain, Victor. You’re brave as fuck.”

Victor shrugs. “It doesn’t feel like bravery. More like I don’t have any other choice.”

Suddenly, Simon is pulling the car up to the curb in front of Victor’s house. “It makes me feel better to hear you think that way.”

“That I’m not brave?”

“No. That there isn’t another option.”

 _Oh_. Right. Because technically there _is_ another option. But Victor genuinely hasn’t even considered it since the day the article blindsided him, and even then the idea of allowing darkness—or light, who knows—to swallow him forever had been a terrifying one, a foundation-shattering one.

Simon pushes his door open. Victor follows suit, his hands shaking a bit, eyes puffy. When he comes around the front of the car, Simon throws his arms around Victor’s shoulders and pulls him tight. Victor inhales, a deep breath that seems to realign something inside.

“You’re strong, Victor,” Simon says. “And you’re good. You are _good_.”

Victor nods against Simon’s shoulder, the final tear of the day (or so he hopes) soaking into the cloth of Simon’s shirt.

Pulling away, Simon gently claps Victor on the shoulders. “Bram and I are leaving today.”

“What? I thought you had another couple of days,” Victor says, disappointed.

Simon removes his hands and shoves them in his pockets. “Yeah, well, Bram isn’t really feeling the ‘vibe’ in Atlanta,” he says, pulling one hand out to scare quote that word. “I think I mentioned that we were planning on coming back for the Summer Carnival though, right?”

“Yeah,” Victor says and bites the inside of his cheek. With Simon and Bram back in New York, Victor can’t help but feel like his lifeline is stretched elastic, pale and weak in the center, ready to snap at any moment.

“It’s looking almost definite that we’ll be there,” Simon says, his tone indicating that Victor should cheer up. “So we’ll see you in about a month, okay? That’s not so bad.”

“No, it’s not,” Victor agrees, still feeling a bit wounded. Then a guilt joins hands with that feeling; Simon and Bram have their own lives, have moved beyond Atlanta and Creekwood and high school drama. It’s unfair of him to expect the couple to always be around to soften his stumbles.

“Text me whenever, though. Or call me. Whatever you need. I know I already said it, but I think it’s something that bears repeating. When you’re on the inside of everything, it can just feel normal, but what you’re dealing with is _trauma_ , Victor. It’s way more than any person should have to cope with, especially at sixteen years old. And the fact that you’re still standing here is a testament to how incredible you are.”

Victor smiles. Simon’s right; he hasn’t given himself the room to take a step back and consider all of the events of the past two months of his life. It makes his head spin to think of everything at once—he actually does get a bit light-headed and has to take a breath to sturdy himself. “Thank you, Simon,” he says once he’s sure he won’t pass out. “You have no idea how much it means. Everything you’ve done…I don’t know if I can ever thank you enough.”

“Just get better,” Simon says and squeezes Victor’s shoulder. “Come out the other side a better person, even despite every opportunity to take your pain nd turn it into hate. That’s the best repayment I can ask for.”

“Okay,” Victor says. “I really am trying.”

“I know. The hardest part is you have to _keep_ trying. But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Simon grins. “Because I know you. I think you could probably do anything, Victor Salazar.” He pulls Victor into one more hug—brief but tight—and opens his car door. “I mean it, Vic. If you need _anything_ —”

“Text or call, I got it!” Victor says with a chuckle. “I will. I promise.”

“Good. Take care of yourself,” Simon says, and with one last smile, he pulls out into the street.

* * *

After explaining what happened in as little detail as possible to his mother—“No, _mami_ , I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, _mami_ , Benji is going to be fine. No, _mami_ , I’m not hungry,” (though this last part is a lie)—Victor retires to his room and collapses into his bed.

Something profound teeters at the edge of his consciousness. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him until Simon brought it up; by all accounts, he _should_ be dead. With the way his calamities have stockpiled, he has no idea how the world hasn’t knocked his legs out from beneath him, plummeting his skull to the ground and smashing it into smithereens.

Simon’s request buzzes around his ears. _“Just get better…Come out the other side a better person.”_ It doesn’t seem possible, and yet Victor has to wonder how he could survive this and not somehow be better for it.

When he was younger, he would pray through moments like this one. It always felt a little silly, talking in his head and never getting a real response (and if he _did,_ would that not be reason for concern rather than comfort?). But there was still something reassuring about the idea that something benevolent might be listening in.

It’s with a pang of sorrow that he realizes how much he _misses_ that feeling. It’s been fading for a long time—maybe it started when he first began questioning his sexuality at all, or even before that—but lately he can’t seem to reconcile what’s happened in his life with the idea that a divine force exists.

But Victor wants it to. Oh, he _wants_ it to. And he wants to believe that somehow things will end up okay, that maybe all of this is part of some larger scheme, that he’s being guided down a path that will spit him out somewhere sparkling and serene. His mother always told him, “Just surrender to God. If you trust that He knows exactly where you need to be and don’t act against Him when you feel His will in your life, you will always end up in the right place.”

Could _this_ be the right place? Battered, disillusioned, no sense of direction? Because lately, all Victor’s done is tread water and desperately keep his head above the choppy surface. It hasn’t stopped him from stomaching a few dark mouthfuls of briny water, either.

And hadn’t holding Benji made him feel the way he used to when he prayed? Wasn’t there something untouchable, unnamable in the way his dented form had molded right to Victor’s touch, how two points in time seemed to become one as soon as their bodies linked?

It’s Benji’s face, the memory of each puff of breath, that both haunts and heartens Victor as his eyes flutter shut; not even the acrid yellow of morning sunbeams is enough to prevent his tired mind from reverting to temporary hibernation.

* * *

His phone is ringing in his hand.

Victor’s eyes drag awake. He has no idea how long he’s been asleep, but based on the light pouring through his window it’s probably mid-afternoon.

Without even looking at the caller ID, he answers. “Hello?” he asks, his mouth dry and foul-tasting.

“Hey, Victor. It’s Miranda.”

 _Who?_ Victor pauses, his groggy mind not placing the name.

“Um. From Brasstown?” she prompts when he says nothing.

“Oh. Hi, Miranda. What’s up?”

Miranda’s sigh is crackly on the line. “I’m in a bit of a situation. There’s a family emergency, but I was supposed to close tonight to cover for Benji, because, well, I don’t know what happened but Sarah told me he’s suddenly out of commission,” she says, flying through the words, “and everybody else I’ve tried so far is busy and can’t help out, and I know it’s a long shot but—”

“I got it,” Victor says, more awake now.

“I—what?”

“I can cover you,” he says and swings his legs out of bed.

Her breath of relief washes over him; her pace slows down. “Victor, you have no idea how grateful I am. It’s a long story that I’m sure you don’t want to hear, but you’re doing me a _huge_ favor. My stupid brother might be in legal trouble or something. My parents won’t tell me what it’s about, though.”

“It’s no problem. Can you hang tight for, like, twenty minutes? I just have to get ready real quick and then I can be right over.”

“You’re seriously the best, thank you so much.”

Victor can’t help but grin. “You’re welcome. See you in a bit.”

“Yeah, see you.”

She hangs up and Victor stretches his arms, both of his elbows popping with the extension over his head. He’s found that a Brasstown shift sometimes forces things into focus in his head. Something about inhaling coffee for hours, maybe, and keeping his hands occupied while his mind runs.

His mom’s just done laundry, so he grabs one of his Brasstown shirts (his _own_ this time, thankfully) and slips it over his head.

Victor cracks his door open. “Mom?” he calls. “Could you give me a ride?”

* * *

Miranda practically launches herself out the door when Victor walks in, shouting a final “Thank you!” over her shoulder as she goes.

Victor jumps right in to fill her spot. It’s strange; he keeps turning around, expecting to see Benji beside him, silently handing Victor exactly what he needs the way he used to. This is very much unwelcome; Victor thought coming to Brasstown might take his mind off things, but as the hours drag by and the clientele dwindles, all he can think is that everything might be worth it— _hell_ might be worth it—if Benji were holding his hand on the other side.

Because he doesn’t _feel_ any different. Or maybe he feels so different that it’s impossible to remember what he’d even felt before. But if he had something to show for this demented quest through his own life, then Victor thinks he might be able to accept what’s happened to him. There’s a cosmic injustice, and this strange sense of unfinished business.

And so he pictures Benji beside him all through his shift, laughing, joking with customers, taking too long with their drinks because the foam art needs to look _perfect_ , or how can he even serve it? This line of thinking is self indulgent. It’s also incredibly painful.

At some point, the hours condense down and time seems to pass much more quickly. Victor allows himself to slip into a fantasy, the idea that Benji might take him back, might apologize for using Victor the way he did at the hospital. And the worst part is Victor would accept that apology in a fraction of a heartbeat. He’s not mad; he _should_ be, he knows, and he shouldn’t be so willing to bury himself in Benji’s arms again.

But if Benji called him right now and said he needed him…he might not say no.

Finally, dusk has swallowed Atlanta. It’s a cool, clear night, the occasional cloud darting nervously across the silhouette of the moon, feeling too exposed. Victor sympathizes; standing alone behind the counter, knowing that a majority of his customers were given an non-consensual access pass to his personal life, Victor is backlit and burning. They see the shadow, the shape, but it’s only an outline of the real thing.

“Excuse me, could I get a cappuccino?” says a familiar voice.

Victor isn’t sure if he should smile or sigh, so he decides to do neither. “Hey, Gabe,” he says as he turns to the register. Gabe is the only customer in the store—odd, Victor hadn’t heard the door open—and he leans eagerly against the counter. “Yeah, coming right up.”

“It’s almost closing time, isn’t it?”

Victor pulls out his phone and looks at the time. “Oh. Shit, yeah, it is.” He hadn’t even realized how late it’d gotten. He should’ve started prepping for cleanup twenty minutes ago. He sighs and shoves the device back into the pocket of his jeans.

“How about this? As soon as you make my drink, I’ll come and help you clean up.”

Victor cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I’ve worked in a cafe before,” Gabe continues. “I know the ins and outs. All you’d have to do is let me know what to do.”

Heaving a sigh, Victor looks around him. “I don’t think Sarah would be too happy if she found out I let a civilian behind the counter.”

“Civilian?”

Victor chuckles. “Her word for customers.”

“Okay, fine. What if I…” Gabe does a full circle on the spot. “What if I help you clean the floor out here? And wipe tables?”

“Hmm,” Victor says and bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess that wouldn’t be breaking any rules.”

“And it’s probably your least favorite part of closing.”

“How did you know?”

Gabe smirks. “Because it’s _everybody’s_ least favorite part of closing.”

“That’s fair,” Victor says and laughs through his nose. He quickly whips up Gabe’s beverage and hands it to him, crossing his arms. “Why are you always here so late?”

Gabe shrugs as he takes a sip (and winces because it’s still too hot to drink; he’d insisted again despite Victor’s warning). “It’s much quieter.”

“But why order coffee every time? Do you even sleep?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Not really,” Gabe admits.

His tone indicates that there’s something deeper going on there. Victor briefly considers asking, but he has enough on his mind right now. He’s not in a position to be taking on someone else’s burdens, especially not someone he hardly knows.

“I’m gonna bring out the broom and the mop,” Victor says. He picks at one of his nail beds. It’s strange that only a few days ago, being alone with Gabe like this would’ve made him feel nervous. He would’ve questioned every word, every glance, wondered if they meant something more. Wished they did.

But now he can’t even bring himself to hope. As Victor slinks into the back room to deliver the cleaning supplies, the impossible reality sears him; he nearly gasps with the lucidity of the thought.

Because it will only ever be Benji. Victor doesn’t want anybody else, can’t see himself with anybody else. And he doesn’t _want_ to want anybody else. He wants Benji, flaws and baggage and all, and in this moment he wants Benji so desperately that it takes him a moment to remember why he’s come to the storage closet at all, why his hands grip two handles like he might be ripped away in a torrent if he lets go.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself and shakes his head. He bites down on his tongue, the pain forcing his mind back to reality, and he emerges from the back of Brasstown with the mop, the broom, and the unequivocal recognition that he’ll either die by Benji’s side, or he’ll die alone.

“You good?” Gabe asks when Victor passes the supplies over the counter.

He nods. “Yeah. It’s…been kind of a long…”

“Day? Week?”

“It’s been a long year.”

Gabe’s mouth twists into something sympathetic. Victor tries to ignore it—what is he supposed to do with sympathy?—but there’s nevertheless something comforting about being comprehended, about his words being accepted and not questioned, not challenged. Just heard.

They work in silence; Victor typically turns on music, but he doesn’t feel anything will help his mood, will just remind him of how cut off from normalcy he feels. So they work in silence, the air punctured occasionally by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, or running water, or the clink of mug against mug.

Having another set of hands makes the process zip by. Victor shouldn’t be surprised that Gabe is a swift and efficient worker given his supposed background in closing cafes, but in record time all of the chairs are upside down on their respective tables, the equipment wiped down and everything stowed away in its proper place.

Gabe is sitting at the table closest to the counter, the chairs still on the floor, mop and broom leaning against the wood.

“Too tired to finish?” Victor jokes as he washes his hands.

Gabe doesn’t smile. “Come sit,” he says.

Victor frowns and wipes his hands dry on the front of his shirt. But he doesn’t ask any questions. He joins Gabe, sits directly across from him, his nerves jolty due to Gabe’s intense expression. It’s difficult to read the emotion there, maybe because it’s too many emotions for one person to feel. Victor knows what that’s like.

“You need to talk.” It isn’t a question.

Victor shrugs. “Maybe.”

“But what? I wouldn’t get it?”

He can’t help but grin. “You have this really weird way of knowing exactly what’s going on in my head sometimes.”

Leaning back in his chair, Gabe returns the smile. “It’s a gift.”

“You’re right, though. I don’t think anybody would get it.”

Gabe hums, a thoughtful sound as he chews on his lower lip. “Try me anyway. You’d be surprised.”

With a sigh, Victor rests his elbows on the table. A car rushes by outside, the sound of tires rapid on the pavement, the flash of the headlights. Victor’s hands smell like coffee and jasmine soap, and somewhere in that complex pungent mix he swears he can detect Benji, the way his hair smells fresh-washed, his body at the beginning of the day, the way it’s changed after a shift, soaked in the aroma of ground coffee beans and just a little bit of sweat, earthy, but mild and sweet.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” he says, and the words feel fragile, unable to pull the weight of the idea he’s trying to communicate, but they’re a place to start. “With everything that’s happened to me, I just feel… _different_. Like I’m watching my own life from outside. I just feel so separate from everybody. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m making the conscious choice not to tell people about everything that I’m going through. But I feel like nobody would understand, you know? Looking back at who I was half a year ago, I’ve changed _so much_ , and it feels like everything else has stayed the same. And I’m still trying to come to terms with this part of myself that feels really weird and misplaced. I don’t even get to do it privately, because the whole world knows. And, maybe this sounds dumb, but…I’ve been thinking about God a lot recently.”

Gabe’s face shows a flicker of increased interest.

Victor continues. “Because there was this moment recently where I genuinely wondered if my life was going to end, and it didn’t. And I couldn’t help but feel… _something_. I don’t know what it was, exactly, but it felt like a second chance, maybe.” He pauses, runs his tongue along his teeth, and continues. “Not many people know this, but after I came out to my parents, they…took me to see this therapist. Technically it wasn’t ‘conversion therapy’ or whatever, but it felt an awful lot like that. The idea was basically that being gay isn’t a sin in and of itself, but acting on any gay thought _is_. It just doesn’t make any sense to me,” he says, his pitch rising in frustration. “If there is a God, why would it make me this way? Am I just supposed to stay single my whole life? Never experience love the way straight people do? And what does that say about the love that I _do_ feel?”

And he can’t help but run through every moment with Benji he can remember (all of them, every single moment) and each damning kiss, every touch that’s supposedly left an oozing black spot on his soul.

“I don’t want to believe in a God like that,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I _can’t_. But right now, if I don’t have _something_ to believe in, I’m afraid that I’m just gonna…give up.”

Gabe nods, wraps his thumb and pointer fingers around his chin. “Where did you get this idea that God won’t love you for being exactly who He made you to be?”

“What?”

“Where did that idea come from?” Gabe repeats. The question isn’t accusatory or harsh; it’s genuine curiosity.

Victor swallows, his mouth dry. “I guess…other people who believe in God?” he says, wondering what Gabe is getting at.

“Right. Have you ever felt that same energy from _God_?”

Victor stares down at the table and scratches at a doodle of a flower; the ink doesn’t come up from the surface. “I guess not,” he says.

“Something I want you to think about,” Gabe says, “is the idea of divinity. What it is to _you_. What it could be, what you want it to be.”

“What do you mean?”

Gabe quirks his mouth to the side, then pumps his eyebrows once and leans forward. “Sometimes, I like to think of divinity as a little ball of yellow light. I hold it in my hands, roll it between my palms, and it keeps me warm.” He mimes this action as he speaks, one palm up and one down, like he’s rolling clay. “I can tell it secrets and it will never share them. When I’m sad, the light can even dry my tears.”

Victor frowns, the tip of an idea breaching the surface of the violent storm of high tide in his mind.

“Or how about this? Divinity could be a breeze on a hot day. It cools you off, it ruffles your hair and reminds you of your own physicality, of how perfect and capable your body is.”

“I’m confused.”

Gabe chuckles and nods. “I understand. What I’m trying to say is…divinity isn’t something that’s prescribed. It _can’t_ be. Organized religion will try to tell you that it’s against the rules to pick and choose what you want to believe about God, but that’s just not true. Nobody _really_ knows how to approach divinity, Victor. It’s the best and most frustrating part about spirituality. But the point is: it can be as individual and personal as you want it to be. Especially for queer people. The Church doesn't understand our worth the way God does. They're scared of what's different, what they don't understand. Trust me, there are plenty of other queer people who have gone through this same struggle. But your queerness doesn't preclude you from spirituality. If anything, it enhances it. You just have to teach yourself how they work together for you.”

“Oh,” Victor says. A singular beam of realization dawns through the black clouds that circle him.

“Let me give you some advice. Be on the lookout for moments of clarity. Moments where you feel grounded, when you’re most connected to yourself and to everything around you. Those are your moments of spirituality. That’s divinity revealing itself to you.”

Victor nods, feeling a bit stunned. He’s _never_ considered that God could be something so personal, so private. When he sat among rows of people in pews, they all lifted their voices to the same figure, the man on the cross, the image of the white-bearded man in the sky. It was an association that was almost impossible to separate from kneecaps on kneelers, of the smell of old hymn books.

“Too many people think that Sunday morning is when they experience God,” Gabe says and looks out the window. “But divinity _really_ comes to us in all of the moments outside of the church. It’s just a matter of listening.”

“Yeah,” Victor breathes. “I guess so.”

Gabe stands, a soft smile splayed across his lips. “Just keep your ears open, okay? Too many people have stopped believing because believers who claimed to have open minds have closed themselves off to really hearing what God is saying to them.” He turns toward the door.

“Wait!” Victor says and jumps out of his seat. “Can I have your number or something? In case I have questions or…something?”

Gabe turns around, glances at Victor and then to the ground. “Of course,” he says. He walks up to the counter, grabs a pen, then comes back and pulls one of the napkins out of the freshly loaded dispenser. He scribbles seven numbers, hands the paper to Victor, then returns the pen.

“Thanks,” Victor says as Gabe passes the table.

He nods. “Of course. Keep your heart open, Victor. It might be a lifelong process, but divinity is yours to define. It’s supposed to be a comfort and a guide. Not some old white dude who hates gay people for following their most base human instinct to love.” He pauses, looks like he might say something else, but just gives a little shrug. “I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” says Victor, staring at the sloppy numbers on the napkin. When he looks up, Gabe is gone.

_“Moments of clarity…”_

And of course, what else can he think about then being with Benji, the times when the world seems to stop rotating and all he knows is Benji’s laugh, sunlight glinting off his teeth. In the hospital, Victor’s prayer to Benji’s body, the silent plea that he turn around and look Victor in the eyes, that up is the only direction he could go from this point.

If Benji is his religion, Victor’s excommunication is a life sentence. What if being with Benji isn’t what damns him? What if it’s his only chance of salvation?

Benji’s name sits heavy on Victor’s tongue, a weighted wafer, as he returns the supplies to the closet, stacks the final chairs, turns off the light, and locks the door to Brasstown.


	15. Gloaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GLOAMING; _n_. — twilight; dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. Coming at you with a HEFTY chapter. I really hope the progression of things makes sense...I'm definitely going to have to come back and do some serious revision to make the character arcs a bit more consistent, but that will come later. For now, enjoy this longass chapter!!
> 
> ALSO, ANNOUNCEMENT FOR VENJI FANFIC WRITERS: Myself and AO3 user [ (hi Sam hehe) are organizing a Halloween Venji Fic Fest!! Anyone is free to submit a fic! Check out ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyy)[this post on Tumblr](https://venjificfests.tumblr.com/post/630466703289204736/venji-fic-fests-halloween-2020-join-us-for-our) for more details, and be sure to follow the Venji Fic Fests blog as well! We'll be doing more events in the future :D
> 
> ANYWAY, very excited to hear your thoughts on this chapter. It's a doozy for sure <3

The next morning, Victor has his second therapy session with Desiree. She seems genuinely pleased to see him, possibly because of the knowledge about his prior therapist.

After an exchange of basic pleasantries and small talk, Desiree jumps right into the meat of the session.

“If you’ll remember, I gave you some homework,” she says with a small smile. Victor’s heart drops. He’d forgotten all about…what was the assignment again? “By the look on your face, I’m guessing it slipped your mind.”

Victor grins and nods. “Jog my memory?

Desiree chuckles. “You were _supposed_ to do some research on how other gay people approach their spirituality.”

“Oh!” Victor says and sits up a bit. “I actually _did_ do that, but it was sort of an accident.”

“How do you mean?”

He clears his throat. “Well, I have a friend who’s also gay,” Victor says, proud of how normal those words sound around his teeth, “and he was telling me just yesterday about, um…I’m trying to remember how he worded it. Something about defining divinity for myself, I think.”

“Hmm,” Desiree hums, her eyebrows slightly raised. “Could you tell me more about that?”

“Yeah, sure.” Victor readjusts in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. Desiree’s office is nice and cool, and the diffuser that releases puffs of aromatic air into the room threatens to put him to sleep. “Basically,” he starts, trying to translate Gabe’s words into his own, “he was saying that I should look for moments of clarity? Moments when I feel most in my body? And that those are good starting points to figuring out what divinity looks like for me, I guess.”

Desiree nods. She looks impressed. “How old is this friend of yours?”

“He’s—” Victor frowns. He doesn’t actually know. “I mean, he’s around my age. I don’t know exactly.”

With an amused look, she sits forward. “So you’re not close, I take it?”

“We just met recently.”

“But he shared this deeply intimate information with you?”

Victor scratches at his shoulder and nods, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “He’s sort of a weird guy. Really friendly and everything. I don’t get creepy vibes from him or anything like that,” Victor says. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he puffs a short sigh through his nose, not used to being in situations where he can’t immediately check the notification.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t see any harm whatsoever in his advice. It sounds like a good way to connect with yourself and find out how your faith speaks to you.”

“Really?” He’s not sure why, but hearing an adult validate this way of thinking is a huge comfort.

Desiree nods and crosses her legs, resting her hands on her knee. “Sure. I think it might benefit you to do some more research, but like you said, it’s a great starting point.”

Victor nods as his phone vibrates again. He glances down at his pocket and licks his lips.

“Is there anything else going on right now? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Sorry,” he says with a nervous laugh. Truthfully, there _is_ something that’s been hanging off the edges of his mind, hooked into the crevices in his brain and pulling it downward. “Actually, there is something…”

Desiree says nothing, just gives him an encouraging nod.

Suddenly, it seems impossible to say, and Victor knows it’s because there’s not just _one_ thing, there’s _five_ fucking things that have joined hands and circled around him, shouting perpetual jeers. So he chooses the most recent one, the wound that’s still seeping scarlet.

“I think I may have ruined any hope for a relationship with someone I really care about.”

Desiree sits back and continues to nod. A few beats of silence pass before Victor feels compelled to continue. He fixes his eyes on a tiny blotch on the otherwise spotless carpet and expels all of the emotions from his core. Victor tells Desiree about Benji, about the breakup in tandem with the article, about the altercation in Brasstown, and, most importantly, all of the details surrounding Benji’s accident and how Victor ended up staying over in the hospital, sharing the same bed.

“And when we woke up in the morning, it was like he couldn’t even look at me. He regrets it so much, and I think I might be so broken that I broke him, too,” Victor says. A droplet from the tip of his nose lands next to the little blemish on the carpet and stains a tiny dark circle into the fibers. “I just wanted him to be okay. Maybe it was a little selfish, because I missed him _so much_ and I just wanted to be with him. Part of me knew that it wasn’t a good idea, but he was alone and in pain and probably really afraid, and I couldn’t stand to just leave him like that.” He heaves a gasping breath. “When we broke up, he promised that after a summer apart we might be able to try again. But now—” Victor can’t even get the words to come out.

But now, but now. But now they’ve picked too soon at a wound that’s too deep, a fleshy gash that might not ever heal.

Meanwhile, Victor’s phone is buzzing incessantly in his pocket; someone’s calling him. He’s already sweating from his emotional outpouring, and now his fingertips throb with each unsteady heartbeat as his phone rings and he can’t reach for it and quell his anxiety.

“Victor, can you take a deep breath for me?” Desiree asks.

He nods and wipes at his eyes. Sucks in a breath. Holds it for a second, two, then lets it out in a shaky stream of air.

“Good. One more.”

Victor repeats. By the time this breath cycle is over, his phone has stopped ringing. He manages to get the shaking of his hands under control.

“Very good. It sounds to me like Benji—that’s his name, right? Right. It sounds like Benji has a _lot_ of things he’s dealing with at the moment. I think it’s admirable that you recognized how scared and lonely he might have been feeling in that moment, and it’s understandable how staying with him was a tempting choice.”

“So you think I shouldn’t have done it?”

Desiree purses her lips. “Did it make you feel any better?”

“In the moment it did. But I guess it’s about more than just that moment, right?”

“I tend to agree with you there. Is he getting any kind of counseling, do you know?”

Victor shrugs. “We didn’t talk about it. Most of our conversation was apologizing to each other and explaining what had happened to us since we stopped talking. I mean…” He sighs. “He did try to reach out to me after the article, but I was still really hurting and wasn’t ready to face him. And when I disappeared to New York, I think it really shook him up.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

“Well, yeah,” he scoffs. “But the situation was really complicated. I was still really hurt from the breakup, and then I got outed to my whole school. Maybe it was shitty of me—oops, sorry—but it felt like it was just gonna hurt more to talk to him.”

Desiree taps her nails against her armrest. “Based on what you’ve explained regarding what Benji told you in the hospital, it sounds like there was quite a lot going on behind the scenes that he didn’t tell you about. Is that possible?”

Victor blinks, then raises his thumb to his lips to gnaw at his nail. “I guess so,” he mumbles. All he can think about is the phone call he accidentally overheard between Benji and his mother on their way home from the beach, the tension between them. “But he was always so insistent that I tell him the truth. Benji isn’t a hypocrite.”

“But it’s still a possibility, isn’t it? Clearly he was in a bad enough mental state to do what he did.”

“I guess so,” Victor says, defeated. “I can’t get over the feeling that it’s my fault. Even though he promised me it wasn’t.”

“It’s understandable why you would feel that way. But it’s not your responsibility to take on. Addiction is a serious problem, one that only the addict can ever _truly_ be held responsible for. Sure, people can enable them, consciously or not, and extenuating circumstances can trigger relapses and things like that. But it’s an illness, Victor, just like depression or anxiety. That doesn’t excuse what he did, and luckily nobody else was hurt. My point is, no matter what you did or didn’t do, Benji still ultimately made that decision on his own.”

Victor huffs and presses the backs of his hands against teary eyes. “I wish it would all just go away. Things were going so well until everything fell apart. My dad leaving, that stupid therapist…We would have been fine if it wasn’t for all of that.”

“Maybe that’s true. But if you continue to dwell on the past instead of trying to sort through all of those emotions, you’re going to get stuck,” she says. “You are where you are, Victor. And I’m happy that you’re here and being so open with me. That can be extremely difficult to do. But I’m sure you know better than most kids your age that you can’t change the past. All you can do is look forward and try to take something from those experiences that will guide you into better ones.”

“So what do I do?” Victor asks, close to desperation. “I…I love Benji _so much_. And I miss him. Even if we start as just friends, maybe stay friends forever, I miss having him in my life.”

She nods, a sympathetic smile drawn across her lips. “I can tell how much you care about him. Maybe give it some time, Victor. You both need to heal. I know it may feel like things are irreparable after what happened at the hospital, but I’m sure there’s part of him that _doesn’t_ regret it. He’s got a whole mess of emotions going on, some of them really raw and complex, and wrapping everything up together must be really confusing for him. I’m sure he never intended to take advantage of you the way he did.”

“He wouldn’t,” Victor croaks. His phone buzzes again in his pocket and he fights a frustrated laugh.

“And you might be right about that. I think with some time and open communication, you might be able to be part of each other’s lives again.”

Victor looks right at her, the room blurry and warped. “You do?”

“I do. And for the record, Victor, you are _not_ broken. Neither is he. If anything, the two of you are both strong as _hell_ for surviving what you’ve been through,” she says with a little laugh. “But you need to give it time. Be patient. I think starting as friends again is probably a good idea, and even that you should take slowly. Remember, all of it will only work if you’re one hundred percent honest with each other. The world has hurt you both, and you’ve hurt each other as a result. Trust is so easily broken, and rebuilding it is never an easy task.”

He nods and sniffles, then blows a frustrated breath when his phone buzzes again.

“How do you feel?” Desiree asks gently.

Victor wipes at his eyes again. “Better, I think. Like maybe all hope isn’t gone, or something.”

“Good. Just remember this, Victor: you need to be okay with yourself before you can sustain a relationship. Especially since both of you are so vulnerable right now. You’re going to need to undergo some personal growth before things work again. I worry that if you try too soon, it really will be the end of things.”

He nods. The diffuser puffs. Something clangs in a vent overhead.

“We’re just about out of time, so I think we should call it for today,” she says and rises. Victor follows suit, feeling a bit hollow. “Next time, I think we should talk about your father.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to avoid the topic,” she says.

“Huh. Honestly, I haven’t really thought about him much,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow and ushers him toward the door. “How is that possible?”

“I’ve had a lot going on,” he mutters, relieved when she chuckles under her breath.

“Homework for next week: maybe try to work through some of that. It’s not going to be easy, but try to think about both good and bad memories. Have you talked to him since he left?”

“No, I haven’t.”

She hums. “That may be for the best. It sounds to me like he wasn’t a good presence in your home. So maybe talk to your mother about it. She may have some insight that could help you contextualize some of his actions.”

Victor sighs. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

“You know how to get back to the lobby, right?”

He nods.

“All right. Have a good week, Victor.”

“Thanks,” he says, then almost runs into the doorframe as he scoops his phone out of his pocket. He rolls his eyes at himself and closes the door behind him.

Victor opens his phone and his blood runs cold. He has several missed calls and a whole slew of text messages.

 **_Mia_ ** _: Victor, they got the guy who posted the article. Holy shit. [1:43 PM]_

 **_Felix_ ** _: IM SURE U HEARD ALREADY BUT THE SHITHEAD WHO POSTED THAT ARTICLE IS IN SOME SERIOUS TROUBLE!!! :D [1:46 PM]_

 **_Lake_ ** _: did u hear??? article asshole has been #exposed and is on his way to being officially cancelled [1:50 PM]_

 **_Pilar_ ** _: omg, i think ur in therapy rn but this is huge news!!! they got the guy!!! [1:51 PM]_

Stupidly, Victor wishes one of the texts was from Benji, and for a second instead of being happy, all he can think about is how stupid it was to ever ignore him, to shove to the side the best person who’s ever come into his life. _Fuck._

The calls are mostly from Mia, one from Pilar, and one from a number he vaguely recognizes. Then it clicks; it’s Creekwood High.

Victor walks through the hallway of offices, zombie-like, as he stares at his phone. He doesn’t know what to feel. Why isn’t he happy? The piece of shit who derailed his entire life is going to be in serious legal trouble. Some of it is obvious: he wishes he could celebrate with Benji. But part of him is so tried, so cynical, and it asks Victor, _Why does it even matter_? Because, all things considered, the damage is done. Though he’s digging himself out, that stupid fucking article is one of the very reasons he’s been trapped under this ton of molten rock, one of the reasons he’s had to basically wreck his body to emerge and breathe fresh air in the first place. Does it make a difference if the asshole is held accountable? Does it even matter who it is?

Gabe’s face flashes into Victor’s mind. Unsettled, he shakes the image away as he enters the lobby, where he finds his mother pacing.

“Victor,” she breathes. She rushes him and pulls him into a hug. “They found out a way to trace the article back.”

He forces a smile, though he can tell it’s unconvincing.

“What is it? Aren’t you happy? He could go to _jail_ , Victor, he could go to prison for what he did to you and Benji. And he deserves it.”

“I know, _Mami_. All of my friends texted me during my session.”

Her expression falters. “You sound upset.”

Victor shrugs. “I don’t know how to feel right now, to be honest.”

“Okay, _mi amor_ ,” she says and rubs her hands up and down Victor’s arm. “That’s okay. I understand. But the point is, the bastard won’t get away with it!” she says with a righteous smile.

“Who was it?”

She pulls out her phone. “Hold on, I wrote the name down,” she says as she scans the screen. “Someone named…Evan Rossman? Do you know him?”

Victor frowns. The name adheres to something in his mind, but he can’t quite place it. “I don’t think so?”

She waves a hand. “Maybe someone who has a problem with Benji? They’re in the same grade. Well, he _was_ in the same grade. They expelled him right away.”

“That’s great,” Victor says, again unsure why he can’t bring himself to be more pleased about this.

His mother sighs. “I know, love. It’s not an easy thing to think about. But justice is something that you should be grateful for. Your school went to great lengths to find the little shit.”

Victor can’t help but grin. His mother only swears in front of him when she’s truly fired up. “I know. The timing is bad, that’s all.”

“Oh, was your session not good?” she asks as they exit the lobby. She gives a smile and a wave to the man at the desk as they go.

“It wasn’t _bad_ ,” Victor says, squinting as they pass through the door and the sun hits him full on in the face. “Just. You know. It’s not exactly fun.”

“Right, of course not,” she says apologetically. “Hey, you still have work tonight?”

Victor grimaces. “Yeah.” He has to close but he’s on shift with Miranda at least, whose presence is usually pretty calming and—

 _Oh. Holy shit_.

Evan Rossman. That’s Miranda’s last name. Victor gasps when he remembers the previous day, how she’d called him, frantic, because her brother was in “legal trouble or something.”

“Everything all right?” his mother asks as they get into her car.

Victor forces down a pungent, bitter taste. “I think I _do_ know who the guy is, actually. His younger sister works with me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think she…?”

“No, she’s cool. I don’t think she had anything to do with it. Plus, she didn’t even start working at Brasstown until right around the time the article came out.”

“Are you sure?”

Victor sighs. “I’m sure. Do you mind if I call someone?”

“No, go ahead, _mijo_ ,” she says, starting the car and pulling out of the lot.

He nods and bites down on his lower lip. Finds Mia’s contact and hits “call.” The first ring is interrupted by her answer.

“Holy shit, Victor. Are you okay?”

He fights the urge to chuckle; she sounds out of breath. “I’m fine. I just got out of therapy. But I definitely considered walking right back in.”

Mia laughs, the sound high and thin. “Thank goodness. You’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” he says, this time allowing himself to laugh. “I’m just…processing still, I think.”

From beside him, his mother mouths a question: “Who is it?”

“Mia,” he mouths back.

She nods and returns her focus to the road.

“This is so important, though. What he did was beyond slimy. He deserves whatever’s coming to him and more.”

“You sound really heated about this.”

“Well, I didn’t really get to do my angry-supportive rant to you when everything happened, because…Well.”

“We still weren’t talking. Right.” Houses whip by in his peripheral vision.

“Yeah. Hey, are you free on Friday? My dad and Veronica will be out of town, so my house is completely free. I feel like we should celebrate!”

Victor runs through his schedule in his head, part of him hoping he has an out. Not because he doesn’t want to spend time with Mia, but he’s not sure if he’ll be feeling up to it, even given a couple of days.

“It’s been so long since we were all together, and I don’t really want this whole summer to go by without everybody hanging out. Just feels like a waste, doesn’t it?”

He inhales, the scent of his mother’s brand new ‘fresh linen’ car freshener assaulting his nose. “Yeah, Mia. That sounds great. By ‘everybody,’ you mean…?”

“Well. You and me, Lake and Felix…” She trails off.

“You can’t invite Benji.”

“Oh! Oh gosh, no, I wasn’t—No. Andrew.”

Victor flutters his lips and sits forward. “Andrew? Don’t tell me the two of you are a _thing_?”

A tense second. “It’s fairly new,” she says in a tone that indicates this should make it better.

“Yeah, isn’t he kind of a dick though?” He hisses when his mother smacks at his arm. “Sorry, _Mami_ ,” he whispers.

Mia lets out a cross between a groan and a sigh. “Look, I know he hasn’t always been the best friend to you—”

“I don’t know if I’d consider him a _friend_ —”

“But he had the opportunity to really screw things up for you, and he kept his mouth shut.”

Victor closes his eyes and rubs at his free temple. “So you’re saying that, because he didn’t out me, he’s a good guy?”

“I’m _saying_ that he’s changed. And maybe he was never as bad as people thought he was.”

Unsure what to say, Victor just presses his lips together.

“Look, if it’s really such a big issue, I won’t invite him. But I think if you give him a chance, you’ll find he’s actually pretty cool.”

An idea strikes Victor as the stoplight they’ve been sitting at flips to green. “Fine. That’s fine. It’s your house, anyway.”

“Right, but it would be your celebration.”

“This isn’t like…a coming out party, is it?” Victor asks, suddenly wary of the idea. From beside him, his mother cocksher head in curiosity but says nothing.

“No, of course not. Wait. Do you want it to be?”

“No!” he says. “No. Really. That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure. Listen, would it be okay if I bring along a new friend of mine?”

“A new friend? When have you had time to make friends?”

He rolls his eyes. “Haha. I know, it’s been a traumatic summer, why should anything go right?” he says, and even he’s surprised to hear that there’s _humor_ in his tone. “It’s just this guy who comes into Brasstown a lot. He goes to a different school in the area and he’s really cool.”

“Oh. Um. Is he…”

Victor wants to smack himself. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not like that. I’m…” _I’m still crushingly in love with Benji and the idea of even holding hands with someone else makes my skin crawl._ “No. He’s just a friend.”

“Okay,” Mia says, sounding cautious but adequately convinced. “Sure, he can come. What school does he go to?”

Victor blanks. No, he doesn’t blank, he doesn’t _know_ what school he goes to. What school Gabe goes to. Had he almost forgotten his name just now? He shakes his head; it’s been an overwhelming hour of his life. His brain is just low on juice. “I never got around to asking for specifics.”

“ _Oookay_ ,” she repeats, drawing out the word. “Anyway, it’s a yes. Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little off.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I just…Hey, whatever happened with Benji?”

Victor almost drops his phone at the sound of his name. “Uh, nothing.”

“Nothing.”

“I mean, no, not nothing, obviously,” he says with a flustered chuckle. “His parents managed to get an earlier flight and showed up around five yesterday morning.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Victor glances sideways at his mother, who quickly averts her eyes and turns up the radio just slightly. He’s not sure she’d appreciate finding out that they shared a bed, even given the circumstances. “That’s everything,” he insists. “Look, can we talk about this more later? I’m almost home and I have to get ready for work.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll text you, okay? We can plan snacks and stuff for Friday.”

Victor smiles at this, an action that feels foreign and familiar all at once. “That sounds great, Mia. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Vic. You know…I’m really glad we’re talking again.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Things go quiet for a second, then Mia huffs what sounds like a satisfied breath. “Okay. Well, talk to you later then!”

“Bye,” he says as his mother pulls the car up to the curb.

She puts the car in park and turns to him, one eyebrow cocked. “So, you and Mia are friends again!”

“I guess so,” he says, ducking his head to hide his smile.

“That’s great news!” she says and leans over to kiss his forehead. “I always liked her.”

Victor narrows his eyes. “Did you?”

“What?” she says defensively, unbuckling her seatbelt and exiting the car.

He puckers his lips and raises his palms. “Well, at my birthday party—”

“ _Aht_! Your grandparents were here. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Victor giggles and follows her into the house. “Fine, if you say so.”

“I do say so,” she says, all faux sternness. Once they’re safely inside their apartment, she turns to him, beaming. “I’m glad you still have friends who are looking out for you.”

“Yeah, Mom. I am, too.”

“Now go get ready, you have work soon!”

Victor groans and trudges down the hall to his room. He throws himself face first onto his bed, bounces once, twice, then groans again. The idea of seeing people now that this news has broken…Well, it’s going to be another long shift.

He sits bolt upright and scrambles out of bed. He grabs his walkie talkie.

“Victor to Felix. Felix, do you copy? Over.”

He waits a second, then hears the familiar _krrt_! “This is Felix, reading you loud and frickin’ clear! Over.”

“Hey, Felix,” Victor laughs. “What are you up to today? Over.”

“By the sounds of it, coming to make a Brasstown shift more bearable? Over.”

“Do you mind? I think it’s gonna be a weird day. Over.”

“Nah, I don’t mind. The walk there will be nice. I need to get caught up on the latest episode of my program. Over.”

“Your program? Over.” Victor knits his brows together and places the walkie talkie on his nightstand while he stumbles to his closet and finds a clean Brasstown shirt.

“Yeah, the drama in your life blows every CW show out of the damn water, Victor. Over.”

Victor cackles as he pulls the shirt over his head. Is this what joy feels like? And where is it coming from? This unbridled elation of unknown origin is a feeling he wants to harness, bottle, concentrate into a daily vitamin to take for the rest of his life. Somehow in the time between his therapy session and hearing Felix’s voice issue tinny and distorted from a speaker, a freedom has been cut loose inside him.

Well. Not cut loose. But the leash has been lengthened, and the crippled, winged creature that’s been lurking in Victor’s damp underbrush is finally able to kiss the sky with the tips of its extremities, the sun shining on its face again. There’s a flicker of sadness, the knowledge that it will never want to take to the open sky without its partner. But still, to be gliding through the blue, buffeted by cool wind, is all at once a relief and a revelation.

“You’re lucky I don’t have any other friends, Weston,” Victor says.

“Yeah, I am,” Felix says, suddenly sincere as Victor’s ever heard him. “You didn’t say over, by the way. Over.”

“Whatever,” Victor says and smooths down his shirt, which is just a bit wrinkled. “Meet me outside in five. Over and out.”

Unsure what to do with this sudden influx of energy, Victor pulls out his phone and sends two texts. The first is to Simon.

 **_Victor_ ** _: Hey!! Idk if u heard, but they caught the guy who posted the article. He got expelled, and there’s probably gonna be further legal stuff too. Which is good, I guess. I’m mostly ready for all of this to be done tho. [2:24 PM]_

The second text requires Victor to fish through his laundry and find the shorts he’d been wearing the night before. He extracts a piece of paper and types the numbers in.

 **_Victor_ ** _: Hey Gabe, it’s Victor! I’m sure you’ve heard about the article thing (I feel like everybody in a 100 mile radius has). Anyway, my friends and I are hanging out on Friday to sort of celebrate, I guess. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like! [2:26 PM]_

He smiles and hits send, but frowns when his phone chirps at him. The message says “Not Delivered.” He rolls his eyes and disconnects from WiFi—sometimes it gets fucked up and he has to wait for his mom to reboot the router. Victor tries again, frustrated when the message bounces back again. Deciding it must be an error on Gabe’s end, he hopes that he’ll either see him at Brasstown or he’ll remember to try again later and find better results.

Meanwhile, another text comes in.

 **_Simon_ ** _: I did hear!! Bram actually cried, lol. Happy for you Vic <3 [2:27 PM]_

Victor grins and reacts Simon’s message with a little heart, With one final look around his room, he slips his phone into his pocket and races out of the apartment, shouting a quick “See you later, Mom!” over his shoulder as he rushes down the stairs to find Felix waiting for him.

Felix looks up from his own phone, already smiling at something on his screen, but the smile broadens when he sees Victor. “There he is,” Felix says and spreads his arms.

Victor shakes his head but smiles, allows Felix to pull him into a hug, and thinks for the first time in as long as he can remember that, all things considered, he’s a lucky guy. That things could be much, much worse.

* * *

The walk to Brasstown consists of Victor updating Felix on the recent goings-on in his life. He somehow finds a way to take a step back, remove himself emotionally, and give the most objective recount possible. Maybe it’s a residual effect of Felix talking about Victor’s life as a show. Either way, he tells Felix about all of the Benji drama, about his conversation with Gabe, about how his life is a spinning top and he’s waiting for gravity to finally bring the rotating disc to a halt so he can figure out what the hell to do next.

Felix hums and nods along, scratching his chin like a wizened old man. It almost procures laughter from Victor’s throat whenever he checks Felix, so he opts instead to keep his eyes to the front, for once not so afraid of seeing what may lie there.

By the time they reach Brasstown, Victor is out of breath and Felix has sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyebrows so scrunched they could be holding hands.

“Well. That is certainly…a _lot_ ,” he begins as they push through the doors.

Victor huffs. “You’re telling me. And I didn’t even get to Friday.”

“Oh, the get together at Mia’s?”

Almost stopping dead in his tracks, Victor frowns. “How did you know about that?”

Felix raises his phone and points to it. “Mia told Lake. Lake immediately told me. Keep up, buddy,” he says and claps Victor on the back.

Victor flutters his eyes, both amused and amazed, and heads for the counter. He’s surprised to find Sarah working the register, looking more than a little frazzled.

“Oh thank the dickens you’re here,” she says when she sees Victor.

Felix snorts. “Not ‘the dickens…’” he says.

Victor elbows him and grins at Sarah. “What’s going on? Isn’t today supposed to be your day off?”

“Yes,” she breathes, some of the redness draining from her face. “But Miranda has been M.I.A.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Victor asks, not sure if he should be grateful or offended.

Sarah waves him off. “Please, I heard the news. You have enough going on.”

Fair enough. Plus, he was in therapy, so she would’ve been shit out of luck regardless.

“You know,” she says, leaning on the register and lowering her voice, “if it makes you uncomfortable at _all_ , I can talk to Miranda about moving her to a different location—”

“No!” Victor says (well, shouts, really, but he hadn’t meant to). “No,” he repeats at a more reasonable volume. “She had nothing to do with this.” He thinks back to that first shift where they’d really spoken, how supportive Miranda had been. A pang of something vile hits him in the stomach; all that time, she probably (hopefully) had no idea it was her own brother.

“I think you’re right, but I just wanted to check,” Sarah says, still a bit out of breath.

Victor looks around the cafe, an eyebrow arched. “Um. Busy morning?”

“Hmm? Oh, not really, no,” she says, sounding suddenly chipper.

Immediately, Victor realizes she’s just worked herself into one of her anxieties. “That’s…good!” he says. “I can probably handle things on my own for the rest of this shift, if you want to take a break.”

Sarah nods and gestures for him to come behind the counter. She gives Felix a brief fake smile and pulls Victor into the back room. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, actually.”

Victor gulps. “Is it Felix?”

“What’s a ‘Felix?’”

“My friend?” he says and waves his hand vaguely in the direction they’ve come from.

She blinks. “No. I’d like to make you a shift leader, Victor.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, sure, that sounds great.”

“It is. It is great,” she says, distracted by something over Victor’s shoulder. He turns to find Felix craning his neck to see what’s going on; when he realizes he’s been compromised, Felix almost falls onto the ground. He nods his head and gives a little wave, then grimaces and turns around.

Stifling laughter, Victor turns back to Sarah.

“There’s more. Since Benji is…out of commission,” she says delicately, “I’d also like to make you acting assistant manager. It’s a fairly significant raise, and there are some extra responsibilities. But I’m pretty sure you’re already taking care of most of them.”

Victor isn’t sure what to say. “Uh, thank you. I appreciate that.”

Sarah nods. “And I appreciate the work you do here, especially knowing what’s going on outside those doors. Hell, it probably goes on in here, too. I know our clientele is largely Creekwood students.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So you accept?”

“I mean, yeah, of course,” he says. What kind of idiot would turn down a raise? Especially when it’s a job he’s already basically been doing.

“Thank you so much,” she breathes, grabbing his shoulders and bowing her head. “You have no idea how much you’re helping me out. With Benji gone, things haven’t been quite the same.”

Victor physically winces, the words a hot knife pressed against the back of his neck. “I get that.”

“I’m gonna go take a Xanax and a nap,” she announces, then turns and heads for the back door. “Oh, I’ll brief you on your duties another time. Just, uh, you know, keep doing what you’ve been doing until then.”

He laughs through his nose and shakes his head; Sarah is gone before he can respond. Victor turns and takes his post at the register, where Felix is still pretending like he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“So, what was all that about?” he asks.

Victor gives him a sobering look. “I know you heard every word.”

Felix exhales like he’s been holding his breath and breaks into a sheepish smile. “Congrats, Vic. You deserve that raise.”

“Thanks, Felix.”

“Does this mean coffee’s on you?” he asks, pressing the tips of his pointer fingers together with an expectant smile.

Off to Victor’s left, a chair scrapes the wooden floor. The espresso machines hisses behind him, the scent of freshly ground beans thick and brilliant in the air. “Yeah, sure, Felix. Coffee on me today.”

“Yes!” he says and clenches his fist. “You get an employee discount anyway.”

“Is that the only reason you’re my friend?”

Felix nods. “That, and you’re just too darn cute to walk away from.”

Victor flips him off, remembers there’s a camera trained on him at all times, then quickly retracts his hand and starts to put their order together. Felix grabs a stool and pulls it up to the counter, a dopey grin on his face. “You seem more like yourself these days, you know.”

“Do I?” Victor asks.

“Yeah, I think so. Not that it wasn’t fun to be around you or anything,” Felix rushes, “because I always love hanging out with you, but I mean—”

“Felix,” Victor says. “I get it. Actually, I want to apologize for being such a shitty friend.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that, You were going through a lot of shit.”

“But that doesn’t make it okay for me to blow you off the way I did. So I’m sorry.”

Felix draws his mouth to the side and nods. “I know, Vic. I accept your apology.”

“Thanks,” he says. “By the way, can I get your advice on something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Victor slides Felix his drink and takes a sip of his own, a cold brew with sweet cream. “What do you think it means when somebody gives you their number and then when you text them, the message won’t deliver?” Victor retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens his failed conversation with Gabe, clicking “Retry” on his message again and pouting when it fails to deliver.

“Is this about Gabe?”

“Yeah. I was gonna invite him to Mia’s on Friday, but for some reason my texts aren’t going through.”

“Did he block you?”

Victor tilts his head. “Why would he give me his number and immediately block me?”

“That’s fair. Especially after dropping all that wisdom on you.”

“Exactly. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Felix hums and taps his cheek, then pulls out his own phone. He pauses, giggles at something, then looks at Victor like he’s been caught doing something bad. “Sorry. Funny text from Lake. Let me do some research on this kid. What did you say his last name was?”

“Um…” Victor’s face floods with heat. He still doesn’t know Gabe’s last name. What kind of friend is he to be lacking such basic details about Gabe’s life?

“Okay, you don’t know. That’s fine,” Felix says, his tone a little heavy on the optimism. Victor is going to regret serving him a caffeinated beverage. “Look, there’s gotta be a way to find him. I’ll just search for his first name against all of the schools in the area. That should narrow it down, right?”

Victor shrugs. “I feel like it should.”

And so for the next hour, Felix scowls down at his phone, the corner of his tongue poking out from his lips, as he scours what information he can finds on the internet. Victor has to tear himself away from the search once or twice to serve a customer, always hoping that when he returns Felix will have an answer. But after the hour passes and there are still no leads, both boys are left scratching their head.

“This is so weird,” Victor says, leaning against the counter.

Felix sighs and sets his phone down. “I’m not so great with tech-y stuff,” he admits, “but you know who is?”

“Who?”

“Mia, surprisingly.”

Victor grunts. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Hacking is sort of an art form, right?”

“Whoah, is she a _hacker_?”

Felix shrugs. “Could be. Point is, I think she might be able to find him based on the phone number.”

“I didn’t even think of that.”

“Which is why _you_ would make a _terrible_ hacker.”

In lieu of the ability to flip him off again, Victor settles for sticking out his tongue, an action that Felix mirrors without hesitation.

“Let me text her and see what she can do.”

Which is how, the next day, the three of them end up crowded around Mia’s laptop in her bedroom.

Victor is sweating. He’s facing a certified onslaught of mixed emotions being back here. If Mia’s noticed at all, she gives no indication.

“Boys,” she says, sounding slightly annoyed, “I can’t do this if you’re breathing down my neck.”

Victor and Felix both take a step back, look at each other, and cover their mouths to prevent laughter from bubbling out. It feels good to be doing stupid teenager stuff again.

Still, Victor can’t shake the sinking feeling around this whole debacle; a weight is tied to his ankle and Gabe is the first person to stop at the water’s edge and truly share the burden, even for a brief moment. Aside from wondering if he’s misinterpreted all the signs, wondering if Gabe wants to be his friend at _all_ , Victor realizes he still has so many questions. What’s Gabe’s family like? Did someone tell _him_ the same things he told Victor? Or was that a conclusion he came to himself? What the hell is Victor supposed to do with this information that’s been dumped in his lap? It’s given him hope, but there’s an overwhelming fear, too, because if what Gabe said is true—if Victor _can_ come to terms with his sexuality and still hold onto his faith—then there’s work to be done. So much work.

Mia clacks away at her keyboard, face scrunched in concentration. “Can you read me the number again?” she asks.

“Yeah, one second.” Victor pulls the paper from his pocket; it’s already worn, the numbers smudging, because since his conversation with Felix the day before, he can’t stop opening it, studying the handwriting, wondering if he did something wrong, if Gabe has any viable reason to cut Victor off.

And he’s tried resending the text. Oh, he’s tried. Dozens of times in twenty-four hours. Every time he thinks about it, he opens the un-started conversation and tries to get the text to deliver, but still nothing. It’s eating him apart a bit, if he’s honest. Because all he can think is _This is my fault, I end up hurting everybody I care about, all I know how to do is push people away_.

“Victor,” Mia says. Her voice is tense but gentle, two hands cradling an injured animal just tight enough to keep it safe but not so tight as to suffocate it.

“Did you find him?” Victor says, rushing up behind her.

She shakes her head and turns around, tilts her head upward. “That number doesn’t exist.”

“I—what? That’s not possible.”

“Are you sure you read it right?”

Victor nods fervently, then hands her the slip of paper (which feels oddly like handing her a chunk of his own flesh).

“Hmm. No, that’s definitely it. Maybe he got it wrong? It could be a new number or something.”

A pause.

“This guy…he’s _real_ , right?” Mia asks.

Victor glares at her. “What the fuck is that supposed—”

“He’s real, Mia,” Felix says, throwing an arm across Victor’s chest. “I met the kid myself.”

“Okay, okay,” she says defensively. “Just checking.”

Victor sits down on her bed, too overcome by confusion to think about the last time he was here. “What do we do now?”

Mia sighs from her desk. “I can try to run it with every combination of missing digits. It’ll take a little while longer.”

“Do you mind?” Victor asks, standing from the bed.

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out in an even stream. “No, I don’t mind. Just…please don’t pace. Or hang on my shoulder. Or speak.”

“Got it. I’ll cease to exist for however long this takes.”

“Same here,” Felix says with a salute.

Mia rolls her eyes but her grin is unmistakable as she turns back to her screen. “It shouldn’t be too complicated. Just tedious,” she says.

Victor flops backward onto her bed and crosses his fingers, his toes, then his arms and legs for good measure. Though they’re closed, he also crosses his eyes. About ten minutes go by in tense silence, only interrupted by the sounds of nails against keys.

Finally, Mia sighs. “Half of those numbers don’t exist either, and the ones that do are registered to people who aren’t from around here.”

“Are you serious?” Victor says. He sits up and shoves his face into his hands.

“I’m really sorry, Vic,” Mia says.

Through the crevices between his fingers, Victor watches her and Felix exchange a glance and he feels spurned by their pity. “Whatever,” he growls. “Thank you for trying.”

“For what it’s worth, I think this might all just be a misunderstanding,” Mia says gently and rises from her desk chair.

Felix nods. “He’ll probably show up at Brasstown before the end of the week and explain everything.”

Victor isn’t so sure. There had been a weird hesitation when he asked Gabe for his number, one that he’d initially interpreted as mere curiosity. He thought that maybe _Gabe_ thought that Victor was hitting on him, which of course wasn’t the case. “This sucks,” he mutters.

“Don’t lose hope yet, dude,” Felix says. “Give it a couple of days.”

So Victor does. He picks up extra shifts at Brasstown—there’s a lot of open space on the schedule with Benji still gone and Miranda not answering her phone—partially because he has nothing better to do, but mostly because he doesn’t want to miss Gabe if he does come in. He closes the next three nights, though he hates closing. But he knows Gabe’s eccentric sleeping schedule, the way he seems to only crave cappuccinos once the sun has gone down.

In the meantime, Victor hears from Mia that Benji is out of the hospital and on the mend. Apparently his healing is going fairly quickly, though he’s still in a good bit of pain. Phantom pains plague Victor while he lies in bed and tries to fall asleep, like echoes of Benji’s accident battering his tender skin. He wants nothing more than to text Benji, to call him, to apologize until his lungs collapse in on themselves and his tongue dries up in his mouth. More than once, he almost does. He’ll type out a message, get through a whole screen’s-worth of rambling and emotions, then delete it all and throw his phone down.

He tries praying, too, but it feels inorganic, false. He can’t seem to latch onto the same feeling that came to him when he curled up beside Benji. Per Gabe’s advice he seeks out moments of clarity, but the week only becomes more and more murky as it progresses. Moments of clarity have never sounded like such a cosmic joke. Victor’s mood swings violently, that blip of happiness following therapy trampled by every blighted emotion that pours out from his brain into the rest of him, bottlenecking and building.

All the while, Desiree’s request hangs heavy from the back of his head, yanking him backwards every time he tries to move on. It’s true that he hasn’t given his father much thought since he forcefully ejected the man from their home. He’s spectral, still floating around the hallways. But nobody mentions him. Not even Adrian, who is so prone to putting his feet in his mouth that Victor wonders if he’s tired of the taste. Whenever he pictures his father’s face, he sees him seething, unhinged. He feels the pain of his fist reverberating against his face; he even checks his reflection just to make sure the bruises have really faded.

Part of him thinks they never will. Black and blue splotches tattooed on his body, his face. And no matter how much he tries to cover them, they’ll always be evident, clear for the world to see.

* * *

Victor almost calls things off on Friday. He’s on his way to Mia’s with Felix when he gets Mia’s text.

 **_Mia_ ** _: So. [7:45 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: Please don’t be mad at me. [7:45 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: If it helps, it’s technically Lake’s fault. [7:45 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: No not technically, it’s just straight up Lake’s fault. [7:46 PM]_

His chest tightens, cold hand clutching his heart.

 **_Victor_ ** _: Um??? What happened??? [7:46 PM]_

He shows the texts to Felix, who shrugs, perplexed.

 **_Mia_ ** _: I think I made a mistake when I mentioned that my dad wouldn’t be here. [7:47 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: She sort of…invited everybody she knows. [7:47 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: Believe me, I’m not happy about it either. I’m on my way to buy ten times more snacks than we have and she’s working on alcohol. And I totally get if you don’t want to come. [7:48 PM]_

Felix nudges Victor. “Um. Incoming Facebook invite.”

Victor swipes out of his conversation with Mia and opens Facebook, where he sees an invitation from Lake to an event called “Evan Rossman is Cancelled Party!!!🥳”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Victor mutters. He slams his thumb down on the “Can’t Go” button and turns on the spot.

Felix trots along behind him. “Look, I know this isn’t what we planned, but it could be fun, right? Just a night to sort of get crazy and not worry about things?”

Victor looks at him, wondering if the daggers he’s throwing pierce Felix the way Victor’s been pierced.

“Okay. Maybe not.”

“Sorry. I’m not mad at you, Felix. It’s just…I don’t know if that’s a good idea for me right now.”

Felix nods. “No, yeah, that makes perfect sense. If it makes you feel any better, I think we could probably sleep over at Mia’s.”

“Felix.”

“What? That changes things, doesn’t it?”

Victor crosses his arms.

“Look, I’m not saying that it would behoove you to get totally smashed tonight and just have a good time, but—”

“You did _not_ just use the word ‘behoove’ in a sentence about getting drunk.”

Felix grins mischievously. “That wasn’t a no, was it?”

Victor blows out a breath and turns back around. “I don’t know. I feel like it might be a bad call.”

“I’m not gonna force you! If you don’t wanna go, we won’t go. We can…sit around and braid each other’s hair or something.”

“You’d look good with braided hair.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Victor smiles in spite of his frustration. “Let me text my mom and see if she’d be okay with me staying over.”

“Yes!” Felix shouts into the night before Victor’s sentence even finishes.

He grins and texts his mother, and they wait with baited breath until she responds, telling him to have fun and make safe choices.

“This is gonna be fantastic,” Felix says with poorly concealed glee.

“Since when were you such a partier?” Victor asks as Felix throws an arm around his shoulder. “Lake’s corrupted you. You’ve _changed_ , bro.”

“ _Pfft_. If you’ll recall, I have an impeccable party record.”

Victor barks a single laugh. “We’ve only been to one party together. You got so drunk that you passed out and people drew on your face.”

“Exactly! Life of the party, right here!” He squeezes Victor’s shoulder and lets out an elated whoop, the sound carrying up into clouds backlit by a benevolent moon.

* * *

When they arrive, the Brooks household is still quiet, a few golden lights shining out onto the street.

Victor rings the doorbell, not surprised when Lake and not Mia answers the door.

“Hi, cuties!” Lake shouts. She gives Felix a quick kiss and hugs Victor, squealing as she crushes him in the embrace. “Isn’t this incredible? There are, like, a hundred people coming to celebrate the sleaze ball getting booked. Aren’t you happy? You don’t look happy. Felix, why isn’t Victor happy?”

Felix raises both of his hands and gestures for Lake to slow down. “Honey, he’s just a little overwhelmed. We didn’t realize this was going to be a rager.”

Lake frowns. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because—” Felix starts, but a voice cuts him off.

“Because it’s a really personal situation that’s been blown way out of proportion,” Mia says from behind them. Victor turns and finds her with her arms full of paper bags, bags of chips and pretzels poking out the top.

“Yeah, something like that,” he says with an appreciative smile.

Mia winks at him and squeezes between Victor and Felix; she jerks her head as invitation to come inside. Victor follows as Lake and Felix start to bicker in hushed tones behind them. Victor only catches little snippets, but it seems Felix is asking Lake to tone it down, to direct attention away from Victor whenever he can.

In the kitchen, Mia sighs a relieved breath as she deposits the food on a counter. She places her hands on her hips and turns to Victor. “I’m glad you still came. I’m so sorry about Lake, I should’ve known she’d pull something like this.”

“It’s all good,” Victor says, even though it’s only mostly good, at best. “People have probably been itching for a Mia Brooks house party anyway.”

“First one of the summer,” she says and wiggles her fingers with forced enthusiasm.

They both laugh. That feels good.

“Did you get _real_ snacks?” Victor asks. It’s a risk, bringing up this recurring argument from when they were dating.

Luckily, Mia grins. “I did, just for you,” she says and procures a bag of Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos.

“ _Hell. Yes._ ”

It had been a constant battle to convince each other what the best flavor of Doritos was. Victor was always staunchly team Spicy Sweet Chili, while Mia insisted that Cool Ranch was the only acceptable answer. On the topic of classic Nacho Cheese, they’d answered, in tandem, “They’re not bad. Just boring,” and laughed for five minutes straight.

“This bag is all yours, Victor Salazar,” she says and kneels in front of him, holding up the Doritos like they’re a sacred sword.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I _do_ know how to share.”

“Of course,” she says, continuing the bit, “but you need not share. You will dine like a prince this evening.”

They burst into laughter again as Lake and Felix join them.

“Mia, why are you on the floor?”

Mia quickly gets to her feet, looking embarrassed. “Just presenting Victor his Doritos.”

“Spicy Sweet Chili? An excellent choice,” Felix says.

Victor smirks and high-fives him.

“All right, enough chit-chat!” Lake chirps. “Let’s get this place party ready!”

* * *

An hour later, Mia’s house is packed with fellow Creekwood students. Most of them are rising juniors like Victor, with a mix of rising seniors and some recent graduates as well.

Despite Mia’s protests Victor does _not_ commandeer the Doritos for himself (though he eats nearly half the bag before the party really gets started) and Felix manages to rope him into doing not one, not two, but _three_ rounds of tequila shots.

Victor does not like tequila shots.

Victor _does_ like being buzzed, though. Victor likes floating around a familiar house adorned with unfamiliar faces. And Victor likes that nobody brings up the article, nobody brings up Evan Rossman, and, for the most part, nobody pays Victor any attention at all.

In another hour he’s killed two beers and done a shot of fireball (which he chased with a Dorito; _bad choice_ ) and he’s levitating above everything. He mostly clings to Felix, ecstatic to have his best friend back by his side, grateful that Felix hasn’t ditched Victor after everything he’s put him through. Music pounds through him, erratic heartbeat of youth. At one point, he ends up on the roof; the scent of marijuana is heavy in the air, so he doesn’t stay for long.

Those who do pay him attention are too drunk to remember why they’ve been assembled for this party, too overjoyed in the moment to remember any of the drama. Victor is more than okay with this. In fact, Victor does another shot of tequila to keep this feeling going.

It’s strange that when his judgement is clouded the most it’s ever been, he thinks of Gabe. Maybe it’s not the kind of clarity the boy had been suggesting, but when Mia finds him and grabs his hands, spins him in a circle and spills a little bit of wine onto the hardwood floor, Victor can feel every cell in his body rejoicing, singing an intoxicated canticle.

“Song is prayer,” his mother always used to remind him when Victor would make faces at her off-tune singing on Sunday mornings. “To God, it all sounds the same. It sounds like love.”

Victor sings until his throat his sore, dances until his muscles threaten to give out, but the stubborn force of sheer delectation keeps him upright, keeps him spinning.

Time starts to become slippery, and soon enough Victor doesn’t remember a moment when he wasn’t up on this technicolor cloud, surrounded by his closest friends and the most distant strangers—all of whom have become one entity to him, an inebriated body hive mind.

He’s not sure when he starts drinking water. Someone must have cut him off, someone cruel, so cruel, someone kind enough to think of Victor’s kidneys, his stomach the next morning. The crowd thins a bit as the hour approaches three, but it seems that a good majority of the crowd is in it for the long haul.

But as Victor’s head starts to screw itself back onto his body, as he begins to drift lazily downward from the paradise in which he’s presided, it all begins to unravel in his hands. He watches couples make out on the dance floor, he loses Felix when Lake drags him away. He watches, ashamed, as Andrew and Mia intertwine to the rhythm of a song that’s suddenly too loud.

On autopilot, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and goes to send the message to Gabe again. At first he’s sure it’s because he’s drunk that he can’t find the conversation, the same message that’s been staring at him for the greater part of a week. But as he focuses in and blinks alcohol out of his eyes, Victor’s booze-laden heart drops. It’s…gone. Victor scrolls up and down his messages, looking for Gabe’s name, but he can’t find it anywhere.

In a panic, he opens a new message and goes to type the number in—he’s looked at it over and over, has it memorized—but his mind is preoccupied, full of smog and flashing lights and the bass is so loud that it’s knocking his thoughts around.

“Fuck,” he mumbles and locks his phone. Victor hangs his head, fighting a wave of nausea that rolls in off the coast of nowhere.

What had he done wrong? Was his destiny to expel every positive force from his life? Because he can’t go through this again, not with Felix, not with Mia, not with Simon, or his mother, or Pilar. If he loses one more person, it will drain him and drain him until he’s just a husk of a person, the shedded remains of a snake, a shell abandoned by a crustacean to find something better.

And there will always be something better. Even when Victor is at his best, even when he’s bleeding himself dry and dragging his knuckles against the ground, there’s always going to be someone better. Desiree had told him that he’s not broken. If that’s true, then it must be the world. It must be his _life_ , constantly fracturing into shards that rain down around him in a hellish free fall.

Victor rises from his position on the stairs— _how did I end up sitting here?_ —and almost tumbles down half the flight. His body is screaming at him to throw back another shot, to drown out the thoughts that roar to compete with the thud of the music. But he walks past the display of half-empty handles and to the sink, where he fumbles with the tap but manages to fill his cup with lukewarm water.

He forces down a large gulp. The room orbits around him, a collapsing sun.

And then. It stops.

Across the room, exiting the house toward the patio.

Benji.

The cup plummets from Victor’s hands and he almost slips on the puddle of water as he sprints out of the kitchen, screaming Benji’s name, pushing through disgruntled dancers as he follows him out into the cool night. The glass door hisses shut behind him and Victor almost collides with it, but manages to slide it open.

Firelight from tiki torches refracts in Victor’s tears. He calls Benji’s name one more time before he catches up to him, grabs his shoulder, twirls him around—

It’s not him.

“Oh—I, I’m so sorry,” Victor stammers and takes a step back. Of course it’s not him. They have the same hair color, and this guy is wearing a shirt Benji has, a shirt Benji _loves_ , and Victor was so sure it was him that seeing an unfamiliar face makes his stomach roll over again. But his face is unharmed, his arms both in perfect condition.

“You okay, man?” the stranger asks, but Victor is already turning away, stumbling back inside, his cheeks decorated by two shiny lines that catch the ever-changing multicolored lights of the party and highlight Victor’s torment. He pushes back through the crowd and makes his way toward the stairs, slams into someone along the way—it’s Felix, who calls after him, but Victor ignores it. He somehow manages to get himself up the stairs and into the nearest vacant room, where he’s too distraught to close the door all the way.

Victor barely registers the sharp pain in his knees as he crumbles to the ground, holding himself around his middle. His sobs are fireworks erupting in his skull, his whole body vibrating with the force of it. Through the deafening sound the door clicks shut and the music is muted; two voices, a hand rubbing his back.

He doesn’t mean to say his name out loud. “Benji,” he somehow moans through his tears, then repeats it, like maybeif he applies enough force he can summon Benji to his side.

“Victor, _breathe_ ,” Mia says and continues to rub his back. “Felix, can you go get a cup of water?” she says, her voice hushed, and Victor rocks back and forth on the carpeted floor as the door opens and closes again, a brief pulse of vociferous music.

Benji should be here. They should be wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to music that they both secretly hate, sneaking outside to kiss until they can’t breathe, until their only option is to lie back and look up at what stars are visible and wait for the counterfeit ones behind their eyes to blink out. Benji should be here to remind Victor to drink water, to laugh and kiss Victor on the cheek when he forces Benji to do the same. Benji should be here to experience life with Victor, to have these stupid, excessive nights that turn into long mornings in bed and buttered toast and talking about the future.

But Benji shouldn’t go to parties, and the thought of Benji shouldn’t be assaulting his drunk mind with such fervor, but Victor is starting to think that Benji shouldn’t come back to him. Victor is venom; sinking his teeth into anything just seems to kill it off. Hardly in control of his body, he starts to pull at his teeth, wishing he could rip them out and spare the people who love him the agony of loving him.

Mia shrieks and pulls Victor’s hands out of his mouth. “Stop that! Victor, stop, _please_ ,” she cries.

Victor does stop, the shock of her tears enough to break him from his tearful fit. Felix returns with a red plastic cup and places it in Victor’s hands as Mia helps him sit up, guides him so he’s sitting against the foot of a bed. Still oozing tears, Victor takes little sips of the water, his hands trembling violently.

The music below them suddenly stops. This is followed by a chorus of disappointment, than Lake’s voice. Her shouting is muffled, but Victor assumes she’s sending everybody home. Now that the bass has stopped rattling his bones he feels his pulse coming down.

“I thought I saw Benji,” he gasps.

Mia just shushes him and smooths down his hair. “It’s okay, Victor. Benji’s not here, it wasn’t really him.”

“I wanted it to be,” he says, not too drunk to feel utterly pathetic.

She gives him a sympathetic look and pokes the cup in his hands. “Finish that. Then we’re getting you into bed.”

“I’m not tired,” he slurs.

Mia sits back and pushes a strand of curly hair out of her face. “I don’t care if you’re tired. You need to go to bed. You’ll feel much better when you wake up.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel good again.”

She sighs and shakes her head, then looks up to Felix, who’s standing a few feet away.

Lake pokes her head in the room. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, Lake, he’ll be fine,” Mia says wearily.

Lake nods, looking surprisingly sober. “Good. Everybody’s leaving now.”

“Thanks for doing that.”

“Andrew helped. I’ll be back,” she says and disappears.

Mia turns back to Victor. “Finish the water.” The command is gentle, but it’s a command nonetheless. Victor brings the cup back to his lips and drains the rest. “Good,” Mia says, then takes the cup from him. “Get into bed.”

“Right here?” Victor asks.

Mia nods, her eyebrows raised and her expression taut. “Right here. You see somebody else in this bed?”

“No,” Victor pouts.

“Exactly. It’s yours for tonight.”

Despite his denial of exhaustion, Victor yawns as he crawls from the floor up onto the bed.

“That’s what I thought,” says Mia, yawning herself. “Did you at least have _some_ fun tonight?”

Victor nods and sniffles. “It was really good until it was really bad.”

“Hmm, isn’t that always the way.”

Felix completes the trifecta of yawns and Mia turns to him. “Why don’t you go to sleep? I can handle this.”

“Are you sure?”

Mia waves him off. “Go ahead. He’ll be fine.”

Victor is only semi-aware of all of this, intoxication and fatigue attacking him from all sides. His head hits a pillow and his eyelids seem magnetic, coming together of their own volition. Mia shuffles around the room for a moment, disappears into the connected bathroom, then exits and pauses in front of the bed. And then she’s gone. When Victor cracks his eyes open there’s a full cup of water on the nightstand beside him and a trashcan on the floor.

As sleep finally wins him over, Victor’s last thought is that he must have done something violently heroic in a past life to deserve friends like his.

* * *

Victor jolts awake to the clamor of argument outside his bedroom door. No, not _his_ bedroom. He sits up in bed, head swimming, and rubs at his right eye with the heel of his hand. His stomach gurgles, partly in hunger, and partly in queasiness. He blinks away spears of light that just in through swinging curtains. A window is open, warm summer breeze greeting him.

The arguing gets further away. The voices fade, but downstairs he hears the front door open.

Victor startles when his own door flies open—he almost vomits with the force of his physical reaction—and Felix stands there, grinning, though looking nervous.

“Hey, bud. How you feeling?”

He groans and falls backward onto the pillow. “I’m never gonna forgive you for convincing me to come last night.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Victor lifts his head, scowls at Felix, then slumps down again. “I’m also never drinking alcohol again.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that.”

“I do. I really do. What’s going on downstairs? Who’s still here?”

Felix rocks back and forth on his heels, one hand still on the doorknob. “Nobody. Nothing. Wait here,” he says and pulls the door shut as he disappears.

Victor sighs; he would follow to investigate, but he might literally perish if he tries to leave this bed. His stomach pitches again and for a moment he thinks he’s going to make good use of the trash can Mia has installed next to the bed—oh, good, he remembers that much at least.

But most of the night before is a smudged blur on his memory. He recalls dancing, music coursing through him. Drinking. Drinking too much. He remembers Mia and Felix putting him to bed, but he can’t remember how he ended up in this bedroom, why he feels so _drained_.

The door swings open again. Mia grins at Victor, though, like Felix, she also seems on edge. “Good morning,” she says. She has a plate in her hands—eggs and toast, from the looks of it. “Are you…are you okay?”

Victor groans as he shifts up onto his elbows. “Did someone hit me with a truck last night? I can’t remember much past one a.m.”

“Something like that,” Mia mutters. “You need to eat. You’ll feel better once you do.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says, body tensing at the idea of putting any food in his mouth.

She places the breakfast in his lap and shoves a fork in his hands. “Eat,” she insists.

Begrudgingly, Victor takes a bite of the eggs. Swallowing them feels like swimming upstream, but he manages another bite, two, and then switches to the toast. His mouth still full, he asks, “What’s going on downstairs? Did Lake leave? Or Andrew?”

“Um, no, they’re still here.”

He narrows his eyes and tears into another chunk of bread. “I heard arguing. And then the door opened.”

“Well, someone’s alert.”

“I’m hungover, not dumb.”

“I never called you dumb.”

He doesn’t respond to this, electing instead to shove the rest of the toast in his mouth. He hates to admit that Mia was right; having something in his stomach does feel better already.

Mia’s phone dings in her hands and she unlocks it. Her eyes widen slightly and she types frantically. “Are you done with your breakfast?” she asks, already pulling the plate away from Victor.

“I—sure, I guess so,” he says and pouts a little. He snags the other piece of toast and takes a quick bite before tossing it back onto the plate.

Mia stands and nods, shoulders tense. “You’ll thank us for this someday.”

“For breakfast? Can’t I just…thank you now?”

Mia laughs, an anxious titter. “No, not for breakfast.”

And then Victor hears a voice in the hallway, getting closer, and every muscle in his body tenses, wants to run, to sprint as fast as he can in whatever direction will take him furthest from what’s about to happen.

“I don’t understand what the hell is going on,” Benji says from the hallway, to which Lake responds with just a nervous laugh.

“Mia,” Victor warns, but she’s already out the door, switching places with Lake, who shoves Benji gently into the room and slams the door behind him. Victor flinches at the sound, a bullet flying into his heart, as Benji freezes in place, his breath held.

“Victor,” he finally says, and Victor leaps out of bed, pushes past Benji, and starts to bang on the door.

“ _MIA, OPEN THE DOOR! THIS ISN’T FUNNY,_ ” he screams.

But he hears the lock click and looks down at the doorknob; it only locks from the outside?

“It’s not a joke, Victor,” Mia says, her voice terse and apologetic. “You can’t come out until the two of you talk this out.”

And then the memory races back in; Victor gasps as a vacuum is suddenly filled with the mirror of agony from the night before. He thought he’d seen Benji, and it wasn’t him, and something about this had stricken Victor so profoundly, almost as profoundly as the form of Benji just off to his left, his breathing labored by panic, his arm in a cast and his face still marred.

“ _MIA_ ,” Victor wails, once more, and slams both fists against the wood. He knocks his forehead against the door and stays there for a moment, his chest heaving, head pounding.

“I’m sorry, Victor,” she says. “Like I said, you’ll thank me eventually. We’re leaving now, take all the time you need.” Sure enough, her voice is gets farther and farther away until she’s shouting down the hallway, from the staircase by the sounds of it.

Victor releases an animalistic snarl and his clenched, shaking fists slide down the door.

“Victor,” Benji repeats.

Why is it that this moment that he’s wanted for so long, the one he’s simultaneously worked to avoid with just as much ferocity, feels so surreal? Surely Benji isn’t standing here in this room with him, his eyes wide with worry and his skin pallid, ashen, still stained with bruises and jagged red lines.

But Victor turns, his lower lids brimming with tears, and there he is. Backlit, glowing, a stained glass window shattered and pieced back together by a steady hand, so fragile, ready to break apart again if the wind blows just wrong.

“Benji,” Victor breathes. His body moves of its own volition and he stumbles away from the door, buries his face in Benji’s neck, wraps his arms gingerly around Benji’s body, careful to avoid his ribs. Still, Benji winces, but pulls Victor closer. And he’s real. It’s not a ghost, not a memory. It’s Benji in the hospital, Benji in the back of his car, Benji on a bench outside Creekwood high. Solid, warm against Victor’s skin. Hot tears sink into Victor’s shoulder; Benji must be feeling the same, and they stand there for five minutes, ten, or maybe it’s three hours, a lifetime, silent tears and syncing heartbeats and basking in the recursion of memory, a touch that at once feels like Victor’s own and like one he’s never felt before.

Finally, Victor pulls away. “I don’t know what to say.” His voice is broken, just above a hoarse whisper.

Benji reaches up and brushes away a stray drop from beneath Victor’s eye. “Can we sit?”

“Yeah,” Victor says and guides Benji to the bed. He crawls back under the covers, pulls them over his crossed legs and wraps his arms around himself, wishing it was still Benji’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” they say at exactly the same time, which causes them to chuckle, plucking some of the tension from the air and discarding it.

Benji shakes his head and mimics Victor’s position, crossing his legs and facing him. He’s wearing an old gray shirt, a tattered pair of shorts. His hair is mussed around, like he’s just rolled out of bed. Maybe he has. “What’ve we _done_ to each other?” he asks. The weak smile that had been on his lips fractures as he hangs his head, a sob replacing it.

Victor reaches out and lays a hand on Benji’s knee. It’s warm, soft. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Benji, why are you here?”

“Mia texted me and told me there was some kind of emergency. She wouldn’t specify. I…worried that something happened to you.”

“Because of the news?”

“Because of the news,” Benji confirms. “Are you okay?”

Victor shrugs, returns his arm to his own body and wraps himself tight. “I don’t know. I just want it to be over.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

With a grating swallow, Victor presses his lips together. “I _miss_ you Benji. I miss you so fucking much.” It takes everything in him not to start weeping again; he bites down on his tongue, the back of his throat raw from the effort of it. “What happened at the hospital?”

Benji averts his eyes, shame evident on his visage. “I don’t know. I was scared, and you were there. And in the morning…I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

“What?”

Benji laughs bitterly and paws at his eyes, drying them. “It’s stupid, I know. I mean, after everything, you showed up when I most needed someone. But I thought…I don’t know what I thought. That maybe I was too broken, and once you found out what happened, you only stayed because you pitied me.”

“I stayed because I love you,” Victor says before he can even think about the repercussions of these words.

There’s a beat where neither speaks. A child shouts down in the street, shrieks in laughter.

“Victor,” Benji says, his tone warning, but Victor shakes his head.

“No, Benji. I’m…I’m _sick_ of feeling this way. I can’t do it anymore.”

Benji scoffs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t keep living in the same town as you, knowing you’re a five-minute drive away, knowing that when I leave Brasstown is when you show up. I can’t keep doing that. It fucking hurts. And I’m sorry I cut you off, especially because we needed each other more than ever then. I’m sorry that all I ever seem to do is push you away, then pull you back in to kiss my life better.” Desiree’s words echo in his mind, his _own_ words echo in his mind, the idea to take things slowly, to start as friends, but Victor realizes that he might expire if Benji’s in his life but still holding out at arm’s length. “You deserve so much more than that. I want to _be_ more than that. But I don’t know what to do without you, Benji. Nothing makes sense if we’re not together.”

Benji nods and pulls his knees up to his chest. “I wish we could start over.”

“Me, too.”

“But we can’t, can we? I mean, there’s too much that we’ve been through. Ignoring it and pushing forward would just tear us apart again.”

Victor rubs a hand up and down his own arm, staring toward the window. “Benji…I don’t know if it makes a difference now, but why were you keeping things from me when we were together?”

Benji’s eyes widen. “How did you—”

“I don’t know _what_ it was,” Victor clarifies. “But thinking back, it always seemed like there was…something.”

Benji sighs and rests his forehead against his knees. “I didn’t want to burden you with even more tragedy,” he murmurs, then sniffles. “You were already going through so much with your own dad.”

Victor sits up, releases his hold on himself. “What do you mean? Is your dad okay?”

“He has cancer, Victor.”

He deflates, his lungs unable to take in breath. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “Benji…I’m so sorry.”

Benji shakes his head and shrugs. “I haven’t told _anybody_ about this. But The doctors say he’ll beat it. It’s colon cancer. They caught it early, and the recovery rate is pretty high for someone his age. But it’s been really hard on us. The hospital bills…”

“I get it,” Victor says. He licks his lips, then tosses away his caution, allowing a warm breath to carry it away. “Come here,” he says and reaches out a hand.

Benji looks at the offer, then to Victor, and crawls across the bed. He presses his forehead against Victor’s sternum, grips the fabric of Victor’s shirt. Victor holds the love of his life as he comes undone in his arms, uncensored cries filling the room.

“I should have been there for you,” Victor murmurs, rubbing Benji’s back and crying along with him, aching to see Benji so wretched and raw.

Benji reins himself in and pulls away, eyes shot through with something between fear and relief. “You had no way of knowing. And then when the fucking article came out, it just sort of dredged up everything I’d been repressing for fear of hurting you even more.”

Victor nods and runs a hand through Benji’s hair. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Please,” Benji murmurs.

“I haven’t read it.”

Benji sits back, stunned. “I…Victor, you didn’t actually _read_ the article?”

“No,” he admits, suddenly ashamed. “When I saw the pictures, that was enough to send me spiraling. And then by the time I was stable again…It just didn’t seem worth the pain to revisit it.”

Benji nods, but expels an incredulous breath. “That’s. Wow. I mean, you have to read it, Victor.”

“Why?” he says. He’s never felt so insignificant in his life. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you have to understand what that creep said about me. About _us_. If you don’t suck out the poison, it’s just gonna fester.”

Victor sighs. Benji tentatively grabs his hand. “I will. Eventually,” Victor concedes. “Not right now.”

“No, not right now,” Benji agrees.

The clock on the wall across from Victor ticks through the quiet that follows. A car crawls by on the pavement. In the distance, the grating peal of an ice cream truck. _Who is eating ice cream this early in the morning?_ Victor wonders, then realizes he doesn’t actually know what time it is. He looks at the clock, his vision pulsating with each heartbeat. It’s nearly noon.

“Where do we go from here?” Victor asks the clock.

Benji responds. “I don’t know, Victor. Where _can_ we go?”

A shrug.

“This— _us_ —just doesn’t seem like a good idea to me right now. I’m going back to AA, you know.”

“That’s…good,” Victor says, hoping Benji feels the same way.

He nods. “It helped a lot the first time around. But it’s a lot of work.”

“I know,” Victor says. “But why does that mean we can’t be together?”

Benji opens his mouth, then closes it. A frustrated breath through his nose. “Victor, I care about you. A _lot_. But I think I need to be working on myself right now. If we try again, won’t we both just get hurt? Maybe even worse this time?”

Victor shakes his head and shifts to his knees. “I’m working on myself too, Benji,” he says. He takes Benji’s face in his hands. “And I think it’s really important that we’re both doing that. But I—” He shakes his head, choking on the words. “It’s not like I need you to be complete, that’s not it,” he says, hoping this doesn’t sound like something negative. “But I _want_ you, Benji. I want you in my life, and I can’t keep going like this. I think we might be able to get through this without each other, maybe meet up again on the other side. But I don’t _want_ to.”

Benji rests his hands on top of Victor’s, his eyes down. “I just…I don’t know if I can _trust_ you, Victor,” he breaths, a stray tear crawling down a ruddy cheek.

It’s fair, but the words still strike Victor like a flurry of jabs. “I understand that,” he says, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “But I want to earn your trust back. I want to make things better. Think about it: if we can make it through this together, won’t we end up even stronger for it?”

Benji doesn’t respond. His tongue pokes around in his mouth and he sets his jaw.

“We can take it slow,” Victor says, trying to keep the imploring tone out of his voice as much as he can. If they’re doing this, he doesn’t want it to be because he’s _begged_. Benji needs to want it just a much as Victor does. “As slow as you need. We don’t have to label it, or commit to anything long-term,” he continues, encouraged by the light building up in Benji’s gaze. “But I want you in my life. And I can’t stand the idea of us being just friends. That would hurt more than anything, because…I love you. I’m _in love_ with you, and that’s not something I can stop feeling.”

“Me either,” Benji agrees. “Victor,” he says, then trails off.

Victor sits back, pulls his hands away from Benji’s face. “Look. Just. Think about it, okay? We’ve let all of the skeletons out of the closet. No more secrets, no more hiding. It’s just us. And we have a lot of growing to do, but I want to do it together.”

Benji nods, then practically launches himself at Victor, wrapping his arms around Victor’s waist. “I missed you so much. You have no idea.”

Victor chuckles and curls into Benji’s touch. “I think you’d be surprised.”

Benji laughs, too, and that sound makes Victor think that maybe everything will be okay.

“What do we do now?” Victor whispers after a few moments pass. Their breathing has fallen into a pattern, not quite in sync, but close enough.

Benji doesn’t speak for a second. “Now, you hold me.”

Victor pauses. He’s heard this before.

“And this time, I’m not letting go,” Benji says. “I promise. I love you, and I promise.”

Victor can’t see his face—it’s still pressed firm against his shoulder—but Benji’s voice rumbles in his bones, carries true to his core. Victor believes him. Benji isn’t letting go.

“Okay,” Victor whispers. He guides Benji’s body, carefully, slowly, so they’re both horizontal, facing each other, noses pressed together. “Does this mean you can stop working such weird hours at Brasstown?”

Benji giggles, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Victor’s. “You’re harder to avoid than you think.”

“Well, now you don’t have to.”

“You’re right,” Benji whispers. Victor lifts his chin and presses a quick kiss to Benji’s forehead, then reaches behind him and finds his phone on the nightstand. He types up a quick message.

 **_Victor_ ** _: I hate you so much. [11:53 AM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: Thank you. [11:53 AM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: What did I tell you? <3 [11:54 AM]_

Victor smiles at his phone, drops it behind him where it bounces off the bed, and turns back to Benji. His eyelids droop, a weird kind of relieved bliss etched into his features.

“Even though I think it was the right choice, I haven’t been able to sleep since that day outside Brasstown,” Benji says, shivering slightly.

“Me either,” Victor says, still smiling as he allows his own eyes to slide shut, Benji’s face still burned into the darkness there.

Only now, if he opens his eyes, it won’t just be a memory.


	16. Articulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARTICULATION; _n_. — a jointed state or formation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT? A GOOD THINGS UPDATE? IT'S A HALLOWEEN MIRACLE. I know, I'm just as surprised as you are. I've had a LOT going on in the last month and wanted to take a little step away and work on some other fic, particularly a couple of really great spooky Halloween fics that you should check out if you haven't read them yet!
> 
> BUT, I'm coming at you with a chapter that I HOPE is full of...well, hope. That being said, just a tw for some pretty violent homophobic language, as well as brief mentions of suicidal ideation. It really is a much more upbeat chapter even with those things considered, though.
> 
> FINALLY....it may be another month before I update again. I'm not sure! I'm going to be attempting nanowrimo, which starts *checks watch* uhhhh TOMORROW so a lot of my attention throughout November will be directed to original work. I might end up taking a break or dropping out entirely and come back to this, but I just want to let y'all know that if there's another update gap not to worry!!
> 
> OK that's more than enough from me, please enjoy the chapter :,)

Victor wakes with a welcome weight on his chest, the gentle sensation of another ribcage expanding and contracting just two layers of skin and fabric from his own. He doesn’t know what time it is. He doesn’t care.

Benji is still fast asleep, his hair disastrously tangled, cheeks ruddy and his mouth slightly open.

Victor blinks away tears as he smiles and stretches, his bones and muscles aligned in a way they haven’t been for what feels like months. He pops his knuckles. Sunlight streams in through the window, less lemon yellow and more golden.

 _How long have we been asleep_?

Besides him, Benji stirs. He makes a little cooing sound in the back of his throat and turns in the bed, still asleep, reaching out for Victor.

With a muffled giggle, Victor reclines again and turns away from Benji, allows the other boy to wrap his arms around Victor and pull him close. It feels like he’s being pulled home, animal magnetism drawing his body in, down, into the solid warmth of Benji’s body. Admittedly, the cast on Benji’s left wrist doesn’t do much for comfort, but it clings tight to Victor, presses against his torso and against his heart, and the pressure is welcome.

Benji grunts and shifts behind Victor. He cranes his neck to see what the disturbance is, and what greets him is a pair of hazel eyes, lidded with sleep but glimmering. “G’morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” Victor says and rotates to face Benji, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between them. “Except for the fact that it’s probably late afternoon by now.”

“Mm,” Benji hums. He stretches through a yawn and Victor yawns in turn. “Were we asleep for long?”

Victor nods. “Think so. How do you feel?”

“I…” Benji says, his eyes fluttering to Victor’s neck, his chest. “I don’t know, honestly.”

Propping up on an elbow, Victor leans away. “Oh. Um.”

“No! No, it’s not like that again,” Benji says and mirrors Victor. “I told you, that…that’s not happening again. It’s just. I don’t know what we’re doing,” he says with a single huff of a laugh.

An odd sort of weight takes roost in the hollow of Victor’s chest. “Yeah, I don’t either,” he admits. “But that’s okay, right? I mean, we don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

“Of course,” Benji says. He pushes his teeth into his bottom lip.

Victor wishes he could lean forward, replace Benji’s teeth with his own lips, kiss him hello, good morning, kiss him forever. But he refrains. “Look, we can take things as slow as you want, remember? I mean, _I_ want to take it slow too. I don’t think we can go back to what we were before right away. Or at all, really.”

Benji bows his head and sniffles. “Why did we hurt each other like this, Vic?”

The question is a javelin in Victor’s gut. “I…I don’t know. But I’ve learned now that hurting you is hurting _me_ , Benji. I never want to hurt you again.”

“I want to believe you. _So_ badly, I want to believe you. But—” Benji snaps his mouth shut, shakes tears out of his eyes. “How are we supposed to just move on from this point?”

Victor grips the sheets around him in an attempt to hide the fact that his hands are quaking, his whole body tectonic, crumbling. “I don’t know,” he says in a broken whisper, because that’s all he can manage in this moment. “But I want to try. I _have_ to. If I lose you again…” He trails off, because he can’t even think of the words to ascribe to this feeling, this inherent necessity for Benji to be in his life. Benji has become a bough on Victor’s trunk, strong, sturdy, and as if the process of reattaching the branch won’t be painful enough, Victor isn’t sure he’ll survive another detachment.

“The article,” Benji says after a moment of quiet.

Victor tilts his head. “What about it?”

“You need to read it, Victor.”

“Benji—”

“ _Or_ , at least let me tell you what that asshole said.”

Victor sighs. “Why do we need to revisit all of that?”

“Because we need to be on the same page. If we don’t see eye to eye, if we can’t come together and rise above all of this bullshit, none of this is going to work. And besides, that fucking article is the reason all of this shit happened to us,” Benji spits. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I—I’m sorry. I still get so worked up thinking about it, and what I just said…”

“We did what we did, Benji,” Victor says, agreeing with him. “Maybe the article was part of it, but ultimately, we still made our decisions.”

A droplet slides off the end of Benji’s nose. “Exactly,” he says, voice gruff. “My point is, I _thought_ we were at least in it together, but if you refuse to hear what that article says, I’m just going to feel…alone.” Benji looks to Victor again, eyes like shattered glass. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

Victor’s breath catches in his throat. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll read the article.”

Benji nods. “I can just tell you in my own words—”

“No, Benji. I’m not going to force you to do that, it’s not fair to you. I just…give me a minute, okay?”

“You’re gonna read it right now?”

He shrugs, tries to conceal his trepidation. “Putting it off any longer doesn’t make sense. I want to be there with you, Benji. I’ve already hurt you. I’ve hurt you _so_ much. This is the least I can do.”

From somewhere in the house there’s a high laugh—Lake, Victor thinks—and he’s suddenly reminded that they’re in one of the guest bedrooms at Mia’s house. Waking up next to Benji had been so disorienting that he hadn’t even questioned his surroundings after their joint nap.

Beneath the covers Benji stretches out his legs, chilly toes grazing Victor’s shin. He startles then smiles with an anxious laugh through his nose.

“You have it saved somewhere, I guess?” Victor asks. The article had been deleted almost immediately after the post came to the attention of administration.

Benji nods, features grim. “I took screenshots. I…I’ve read it so many times, Victor. I kept going back, I couldn’t stop myself, even though it hurt so fucking much, I couldn’t stop—”

Victor reaches forward and grasps Benji’s hands, both of them, presses his thumbs gently against Benji’s knuckles. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “I get it, I think. I wish you hadn’t tortured yourself like that, but… Hey, I have an idea.”

Benji says nothing, just gives him an expectant look.

“After I read it…can I delete the screenshots?”

Benji blinks rapidly a few times, perplexed. “Um…”

“Benji. Please. I don’t want you to look at that shit anymore. I mean, look what it did to you,” Victor says, swallowing down the desire to cry when he looks at Benji’s arm, the ghosts of bruises, the wound on his forehead that will surely scar. “I hate seeing you like this.”

With a sigh, Benji squeezes Victor’s hands back. “Okay. Yes. Yeah.”

“It’s for the best,” Victor assures him. “We get on the same page, I see what that fucking creep had to say about us, and then we throw it all behind us.”

Benji gives him a curt nod, then lifts up his body and roots around the bed. He withdraws his phone with a little smile.

“Did you sleep on your phone?”

“My anxiety rectangle?”

“Your _what_?”

Benji unlocks it and begins to scroll through his pictures. “I’ve started referring to my phone as my anxiety rectangle, because I feel like that’s all I ever feel when I’m on it.”

“That’s…kinda cute, but also sad.”

Benji shrugs. “So am I.”

Victor wants to respond but Benji groans and shoves the phone into Victor’s hands. “Just. Yeah. It’s that and the next two pictures.”

The headline stares up at Victor, the words that had sent his consciousness into a frenzy the first time he read them. Now, his stomach turns (though how much of that is due to his hangover he’s not sure) and a cold sweat breaks through his pores, but he manages not to pass out, which is a good start.

_HAGS, FAGS!_

The first picture taunts Victor from the very top of the article, a single lightning strike moment, Benji smiling gently, his face flush with Victor’s in an empty classroom. Happiness. They were happy once, and even though his thumb trembles violently as he scrolls past the image, Victor thinks that maybe someday they can find that happiness again.

And then he begins to read, and happiness is the furthest thing from his mind.

> _Pictured above is Benji Campbell, known homosexual, with Victor Salazar, who seems to be Benji’s new target after Benji’s ex-boyfriend Derek converted him. These images are certified proof of the disgusting process of becoming a homo, with step one being kissing, step two being car sex, and step three being, of course, crying at a coffeeshop like all the gayest ones do._

(Inserted here is the second image, which was taken on that heart-rending night in Benji’s car, back when Victor only seemed to be able to run, to flee, to sprint away from himself and drag Benji behind him on his knees.)

> _Now, it’s no secret that Benji has a problem with addiction. Ask the manager of the Wendy’s on Cobalt Street. Remember when it was closed for two weeks for repairs? You can thank Benji Campbell and a little drunk joyride for that half a month without chicken nuggets. My point is, could Benji be addicted to converting helpless, lonely kids into fags? Or maybe this is the only way he can stay off the bottle, with his lips around some guy’s cock._
> 
> _And of course, this only means bad things for poor Victor. He was on his way to popularity, dating Mia Brooks (one of the hottest pieces of ass at Creekwood), and a rising basketball star. Well, all of that’s gone down the drain now. Fags aren’t allowed to have any of those things. I mean, letting gays into the locker room? That’s borderline dangerous. And if he thinks that it’s time to change the status quo, I worry that a horrible fate awaits him. Luckily, Victor has an entire summer to set himself straight in every possible sense of the word._
> 
> _What’s to be done about Benji? He’s assistant manager at Brasstown, the popular coffee spot for Creekwood students. He could be slipping any number of things into the beverages, from fairy dust to straight up semen. Gays are sick that way, you know. I think we should all call Brasstown and make sure his boss knows exactly the kind of disgusting person he is so we can enjoy our coffee in peace._

(The final image, one that stabs Victor in his lower back, his stomach, slices across his carotids. Benji breaking up with him.)

> _Benji, Victor, if you’re reading this, the most important takeaway is this: this isn’t Hollywood, faggots. It’s Creekwood. Take your perversion elsewhere. Or take a summer and reconsider all of your choices that have led you here. I’m sure reversing the process isn’t too hard. I would say it’s a hard pill to swallow, but I know the two of you are well-versed in swallowing, so there’s nothing to worry about._
> 
> _I hope you both have a gay-tastic summer!_

By the time he gets to the end, Victor can barely hold the phone.

“Done?” Benji whispers.

Victor just nods and hands the device back to Benji, then wraps his arms around himself. He takes a shuddering breath, silent tears flowing free.

“If it makes you feel any better, there were _dozens_ of comments from people absolutely tearing him apart.”

Victor shakes his head; this doesn’t make him feel better in the slightest. “I’m…Benji, I’m so sorry.”

Benji shrugs, eyes trained on the comforter between them. “I’ve had time to process. I mean, I didn’t exactly do it in a healthy way, but…”

“I had no idea that he—”

“That he told the whole world that I’m an alcoholic? Yeah, Victor.”

Victor’s breath hitches again and he sinks back into the pillows and turns away from Benji. “Delete them,” he says.

“Victor—”

“ _Delete them_. Please,” he adds, more gently.

A pause. Then, a hand on his shoulder, tentative. “What are you thinking?” Benji murmurs.

“I’m thinking about how ashamed I am that you were hurting all this time and I had no idea,” Victor says and buries his face in a pillow. “They made you sound _disgusting_ , and you’re _not_ , you’re so far from it—”

Beside him, Benji huffs. “Victor, I don’t want to do this with you. That’s not the point I was trying to make. The article was about _both_ of us—”

“But the only thing they revealed about me was something I would’ve eventually told everybody anyway!” Victor says, sitting up suddenly and facing Benji, humiliation hot in his cheeks. Benji flinches away as Victor asks, “How did he even know all of that?”

Benji grimaces. “Evan is best friends with Derek’s younger brother.”

Victor freezes, shame backsliding into rage. “ _Derek_? He’s fucking behind this?”

“To a certain extent, he must be. Aside from you and my parents, he was the only person who knew about the accident. I don’t think he would be vindictive enough to actually help write the article, especially given how homophobic it is, but I do believe that he would be petty enough to tell his brother secrets about me.”

He stares past Benji at the curtains rippling in the breeze, his teeth clenched together so hard it hurts.

“Victor,” Benji says, the words soft, broken. “I’m…I’m sorry you’re going through this now, especially after you already had such a bad reaction to it initially. What…Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Victor folds his legs and stares at his hands in his lap. “Well, I threw up, passed out in the hallway at school, thought about whether or not it was worth being alive, and then fucked off to New York without telling anybody.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Benji clears his throat, makes a gesture as if to reach for Victor but stops himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t,” Victor says. “I need some time to think about it, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s totally fair. Um…” Benji trails off, and then his stomach gurgles.

Even despite the potent conception of emotions boiling in Victor’s chest, he chuckles. “Hungry?”

“A little,” Benji says and ducks his head. “I haven’t eaten today.”

Victor frowns. “Not at all?”

“Well, I’d only just woken up when Mia texted me, and then…yeah.”

“Right. Well,” Victor says, then scratches at an itch on his upper arm, his skin crawling with anticipation. “Would you wanna go get some food? Or something?”

Benji looks up at him, light catching in his eyes. “I think I’d like that.”

“It doesn’t have to…” Victor sighs and rotates so he’s fully facing Benji. “I know a lot of really intense words were just exchanged but I can’t emphasize enough how much I want to take this slowly. My, uh…my therapist actually told me that we should probably just start as friends.”

Benji nods, a faint shadow of disappointment on his features. “That’s completely fair.”

“And I don’t know if I can be your friend, Benji. There’s just…there’s too much history, and I have too many emotions about everything. But I want to earn your trust back. So whatever this is—we don’t have to call it anything—we can just take it a day at a time. I want to prove to you that I’m not going to disappear again.”

“Part of me already knows that, if I’m honest,” Benji says, licking his lips and scooting forward. “But an even bigger part is still really hurt. And I think it’s okay to acknowledge that. Not to make you feel guilty, but because I’m only hurting myself more if I hide it away.”

“Of course.”

“Speaking of which…Victor, who is that guy I saw you with?”

Victor blinks at Benji. In all of this beautiful chaos, he’d completely forgotten. “Oh. Um. He’s just a friend of mine. His name’s Gabe and he was helping me through some…stuff.”

“Like what?” Benji asks, and Victor grates his teeth to hear the envy in Benji’s voice, the slight tinge of mistrust.

With a sigh, Victor launches into a more in-depth explanation of what happened with his first therapist, the ideas that were scattered through him like noxious seeds, how he’s been traipsing through himself and trying to stomp them all down. Benji listens intently, nodding along but saying nothing, as Victor brings Gabe into the story, tells Benji about his late-night Brasstown visits, his odd charm, the way he’d been so open with Victor about his own struggles with sexuality and faith.

When Victor finishes, Benji exhales a breath—a breath of relief, Victor thinks. “Nothing ever happened between you two?”

“God, no. In the beginning I thought…Well, there was like _one_ day when I wondered if something might happen. We just have a lot in common, you know? But we came to a mutual agreement that friendship was all we were looking for. Plus I couldn’t even think about being with someone who wasn’t you without getting upset.”

“Really?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Maybe not. I think I’ve had this idea in my head that you’ve been off having this adventures, and then I saw you with a cute guy and I started thinking the worst.”

“That’s fair. He just…I don’t know, Benji, it was _weird_. For some reason he just seemed really insistent on being there for me.”

“Why past tense?”

Victor sighs and glances at his phone, facedown on the nightstand. “He’s sort of disappeared. He gave me his number after our last conversation in case I wanted to chat more about stuff, but Mia did some searching around and found out the number he gave me isn’t even registered to a phone right now, or something like that.”

“Huh,” Benji says, pensive.

“Benji, I hope seeing us together wasn’t the reason—”

Benji’s eyes widen. “No! No, I mean…I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt in that moment. I mean, it looked to _me_ like you were on a date. And thinking about the fact that you’d completely cut me off and then moved on was…Yeah, it didn’t help things. But that’s on me for misinterpreting, and for not letting you explain when you tried. My point is, I was already in a really bad place that day. So if you’re blaming yourself for what happened, please don’t.”

“Okay,” Victor says with a small nod, though the blooming pit of liability in his gut remains.

They both jump when Victor’s phone chirps from the nightstand. Victor laughs at himself as he leans over and picks up the phone, not realizing it had somehow come off silent.

 **_Mia_ ** _: everything good? I heard voices and I can’t tell if it’s you or if this house is haunted [4:36 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: also my dad and Veronica are prob gonna be back soon, and I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to be here when they show up :/ [4:36]_

“Holy shit, it’s almost five,” Victor mutters.

Benji hums but says nothing.

 **_Victor_ ** _: yeah, all good. and I think Benji and I are gonna go get something to eat anyway [4:36 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: oh? like a date, or…? [4:37 PM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: not really. maybe. it’s kinda complicated [4:37 PM]_

 **_Mia_ ** _: that doesn’t surprise me lol. I have something to tell you before you go, btw. [4:37 PM]_

“What’s going on?” Benji asks quietly.

“It’s just Mia. We should get going.”

Benji nods and slides off the bed. Victor pretends to be typing as he watches Benji stretch, his shirt riding up to reveal an inch of skin. Ignoring the flip of his heart, Victor forces his eyes to return to his phone, where there’s another message from his mother.

 **_Mami_ ** _: Victor is everything ok? You know I worry when I don’t hear from you like this. [1:04 PM]_

Victor sighs and types a quick message to let her know he’ll be stopping by home soon, then looks up to find Benji giving him an amused look.

“What?” Victor asks.

Benji shrugs. “Nothing. I don’t know. It’s just weird to be with you.”

“Good weird?”

“Yeah,” Benji says with a smile. “Good weird.”

Victor grins back and tosses his own legs off the bed.

Benji stands in the center of the room, golden, unprocessed, and Victor’s heart catches for a moment. Before he can think he steps forward and slides his arms around Benji’s shoulders; Benji grunts in surprise but returns the embrace, linking his arms around Victor’s lower back. This hug isn’t like the others, it’s not bursting with emotion, with longing, with the sparks of two pendulums finally colliding after swinging past each other for so long. This is comfort, this is relief. This is Benji, thinner than Victor’s ever seen him but seeping warmth, his body locking into Victor’s like a bone to a joint, like they were designed solely with this purpose in mind.

“I missed you,” Victor whispers.

Benji squeezes him tighter, his face pressed flush with Victor’s shoulder. “I missed you, too,” he says, his voice hardly audible.

They separate, Victor’s hands on Benji’s shoulders, Benji’s connected behind Victor. Benji with his bedhead, with the dark circles under his eyes, the crash site etched into his forehead, almost too real for Victor to take. He wants so badly to close the distance, to press his lips to Benji’s and remember the way they feel against his—though he’s never really forgotten, sometimes wakes in the middle of the night with the echo of sensation on his mouth.

But Victor refrains. Because Victor is a piece of paper, ripped and sliced and taped back together, and to kiss Benji would be to fly free in the wind, to shake loose all of the segments of self, scraps he’s gone through so much turmoil to gather and sort and fit together into a composite that feels at least vaguely reminiscent of the person he was before.

Benji clears his throat and takes a step back, his eyes flitting to the floor, between his and Victor’s bare feet. “I should…I should go home and change, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. About me, I mean!” Victor says with a nervous laugh.

With a turn on the spot, Benji gestures down at himself. “What, this outfit isn’t fit for a night out on the town?”

“Somehow you make it work,” Victor says.

Benji catches his eye and his smiles falters slightly. “Well, we should get going.”

“Right. Yeah, of course,” Victor says, then scans the room for his shoes and socks, which he assumes Mia pulled off his feet at some point. Once he locates them—in the corner, the socks draped neatly across the tops of the shoes—he slips them on and follows Benji out the door.

As they take the stairs, Benji asks. “Any idea what kind of food you want?”

“Mm,” Victor considers as he hops down from the final step. “Pizza?”

Benji’s lips quirk upward into a smile. “How did I know you were gonna say that?”

“Am I that predictable?” Victor asks, hanging his head and bringing a hand to the back of his neck.

“Maybe a little. But that’s a good thing. It means you haven’t changed too much.”

Victor looks back up, tries to dissect the look on Benji’s face but comes up with nothing. “I guess so.”

“Hey, you two!” Mia says, a little awkward as she rounds the corner. “I, uh…I hope you’re not too mad about that little stunt we pulled.”

Benji sighs. “I was at first but…” He looks to Victor. “It was the shove we needed, I think.”

Victor nods in confirmation. “We probably would’ve gone the whole summer without speaking if it weren’t for you,” he tells Mia. “I really _want_ to be mad at you, but things worked out for the better. So.”

Mia leans down and slaps her hands on her knees with a breath of relief. “Thank god. I’ve been sitting down here anxious as hell and wondering if I made a huge mistake.”

“Nah, no harm done,” Benji says and pats her on the shoulder. “We sort of left the bed unmade, I just realized.”

Mia waves him off. “Don’t worry about it! I mean. You didn’t, uh—”

“ _No_!” Victor and Benji say together, and all three of them laugh.

“Okay, okay, that wasn’t my business. It’s—” she pauses and looks back and forth between Victor and Benji. “It’s really good to see you two together again.”

Victor clears his throat. “Well, I mean, I don’t know if I would call it that.”

“I didn’t mean _together_ together. Just. You know. Talking. I haven’t really seen you two in the same place since…Well, you know. My point is, it’s nice to see that it was all for a reason, I guess.”

 _Fair enough_ , Victor thinks. There’s still an acrid guilt that sits beside all of his twisted up feelings for Benji, shame regarding what he put Mia through, but for her to go out of her way to affirm them means a lot.

“I should get going,” Benji says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Now that I have to walk everywhere, I keep forgetting travel time is much longer.”

“Yeah, of course,” Victor says. He glances at Mia, who gestures toward the door with a jerk of her head. “I’ll, um, walk you out.”

Benji gives Mia a quick hug and heads toward the door with Victor in tow. Victor opens it for him, steps outside, and shuts the door.

“So, I know we’re both hungry now, but maybe we should…I don’t know, take an hour or something? Just to process?” Benji says, biting at his bottom lip.

Victor nods. “That’s fine by me. I’ll text you in a bit. Marco’s?” he asks.

“Marco’s is pretty far from you, isn’t it?”

Victor shrugs. “I’ll just have my mom drive me or something.”

“You’re sure?”

“Marco’s is close to _you_ , right?”

“Well, yeah.”

Victor nods. “Then we’ll do that.”

Benji chuckles and shakes his head.

“What?” Victor asks defensively.

“It’s nothing,” Benji says, squinting slightly in the harsh afternoon sunlight. “Just what I said earlier. It’s good to see that you’re still the same person.”

“Oh,” Victor says, and then suddenly gentle flames are licking his face, heat building behind his cheeks as Benji leans up on his tiptoes and presses his lips against Victor’s left cheekbone.

“Text me,” Benji says with one final look at Victor’s eyes, down to his lips, back up to his eyes.

Victor swallows and nods. “Yeah, um, definitely, I will,” he stammers.

“Okay. Can’t wait,” Benji says with a grin, then strolls down the walk to the street. He turns, gives Victor a little flair of his fingers, then starts his walk home, a bounce in his step.

Victor takes a moment to watch Benji’s form recede, the sky diamond-blue and pregnant with possibility. He smiles, cheeks still warm, and leans back against the door.

Then he remembers that Mia had asked him to hang back so she could talk to him about something, so he clears his throat, shakes out his hands, and comes back into the house.

Mia is standing in the foyer, clearly pretending that she hasn’t been waiting for Victor to come back inside. “Hey! So?”

“So?” Victor repeats, closing the door behind him.

“How did it go?”

Victor bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to mute the dopey smile that’s creeping up on his face, but his lips seem to turn upward on their own accord. “I don’t know. It was good. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s complicated,” he says, though he’s still grinning. “We…we’re gonna try again, I think.”

“Victor! That’s incredible!” she says, bounding toward him. “I was really worried that I somehow fucked things up big time. You seemed…” She picks at her shirt, averts her gaze. “Well, you were pretty inconsolable at first. I thought you were gonna break that door down.”

“I worried I was going to,” Victor admits with a chuckle. “But no, it was much needed. A risky choice you made for sure, but definitely worth it. So, thank you.”

“Yeah, anytime,” she says and scuffs her heel on the floor, hands tucked in her back pockets. “I was really tired of seeing the two of you doing all of this dramatic pining. You’re all he ever talked about, you know.”

Victor’s eyebrows rocket upward. “Really?”

“What, does that shock you?”

“No, I just…is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

She tilts her head, confused, then her eyes widen in realization. “Oh! No, not at all. So, you still haven’t heard from your friend Gabe, right?”

Victor narrows his eyes. “No. Why?”

She sighs. “So, I was doing some… _digging_ while you and Benji were working things out, and I stumbled upon some census records,” she explains, talking quickly, her hands gesturing wildly.

“Wait. Are census records public?”

She purses her lips. “Define public.”

“Available to the public,” he says flatly.

“Okay, so, technically yes. Just. Not a census so recent. They’re usually not released publicly until like seventy years after they’re taken.”

“ _Mia_.”

“I know! I know, it was super illegal, but if it makes you feel any better, the records for this year are locked down super tight, so the most recent I could get was the one from ten years ago.”

Victor flutters his lips and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sort of impressed, I can’t lie. But I don’t understand.”

“Well, I think I may have found Gabe.”

He blinks at her once, twice, then removes his hand from his head. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ I think I found where he lives. There was someone named Gabriele Vasquez who was living at this address at the time.” Mia pulls a slips of paper out of her pocket and gives it to Victor. “I couldn’t get all of the info without raising a bunch of alarms, just the name and the address. But maybe it’s him?”

Victor stares down at the address. “This is, like, two blocks from me.”

“Yeah,” Mia says with a nod.

“So, what? I’m just supposed to drop by and see if he’s there?”

Mia shrugs. “That’s not a weird thing to do. People haven’t always had cell phones, Victor.”

He rolls his eyes and pockets the paper. “Okay, fine. I mean, thank you. I’m grateful you’re using your hacking abilities for good.”

Mia shrugs, looking pleased with herself. “I figured maybe this could make up for the surprise this morning, even though that ended up working out.”

“Thanks again, for that. Seriously. I think you’re right and that the two of us would’ve dragged our feet until the end of time.”

“Every so often meddling in someone’s business is what’s best for them,” she says. “Especially when they’ve got tunnel vision and don’t even realize that they keep looking right past someone who needs them.”

Victor pats his pocket and nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Well I _know_ I am. All right, get out of here. You’ve got a date to get ready for.”

“It’s not a _date_ —”

“Oh, shut up. It’s a date.”

Victor’s cheeks warm again. “Maybe. I don’t know! We’re not labelling anything right now.”

“Okay, but going on a _date_ isn’t putting a label on anything.”

“It’s putting a label on the time we spend together.”

Mia rolls her eyes and grabs Victor’s shoulder, turning him toward the door. “There’s a difference between taking things slow and courting him like a frail Victorian woman. Dates don’t have to mean anything profound,” she informs him as she opens the door. “It’s just a way for two people to get to know each other.”

“Benji and I already know each other.”

She frowns. “Do you?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it. “I—I thought we did. Maybe you’re right.” Victor stares out at the lawn, the perfectly trimmed grass, the gorgeous trees casting fuzzy shadows across the green expanse. _Does_ he know Benji? He’d been keeping secret the information about his dad after all, and Victor had been too self-absorbed to even realize something wasn’t right.

“All I’m saying is a date isn’t a lifetime commitment. I get the caution, but don’t let it hold you back when it comes time to move forward either.”

Victor hums and nods as a car zips by down on the street. “Wise words, Mia Brooks.”

One corner of her mouth twitches upward. “I’ve had a lot of time to reflect recently, Victor Salazar.”

“Sounds like a good thing.”

“Mostly, yeah,” she says, and a moment of silence passes between them. The sun caresses Victor’s face, and the world seems just slightly clearer, like an optometrist has switched between A and B and Victor’s realized that he wasn’t seeing things as clearly as he thought he’d been. “Hey, we should hang out soon,” he says before he can chicken out. “Like, just the two of us. If—I mean, if you want to.”

Mia nods, a familiar smile stretching across her mouth. It’s one of the things that drew Victor to her in the first place, the way he was able to make her smile. Victor rather enjoys making people smile, he realizes. “Yeah, Victor. That would be fun. I’d like that. And once things have settled down, maybe we could all do something as couples. You know, all three pairs?”

Victor sighs. “So is that an official thing now? You and Andrew?”

“After last night it is, yeah. Don’t forget, the two of you are teammates. And the team has already improved a lot since you joined, but imagine what could happen if you started working together more.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“She’s a smart woman.”

He snorts. “Yeah, she definitely has her moments.”

“Look, just think about it, okay? Benji and I already get along great, obviously, and Andrew has a lot of respect for him. And for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks sardonically.

Mia crosses her arms and frowns. “Um, _yeah_. He’s told me so explicitly. I don’t know what this weird vendetta is, if something happened between the two of you that neither of you told me about, but if _I_ can forgive _you_ for—”

“Okay!” Victor says, much louder than he’d intended. A bird jettisons from the closest tree, squawking indignantly. “I’ll…I’ll think about it, okay? Can I at least worry about my _single_ date before I start considering that though?”

She taps her foot, letting her arms relax to her sides. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is all brand new for the two of you. Again. It’s like starting over in some ways, isn’t it?”

“In a lot of ways, yeah. I just want to make sure things are stable with me and Benji before we throw a triple date into the equation.”

“No, yeah, of course! It’s just…Victor, I really like Benji. I think he’s so good for you. And I think…I think part of me is jealous of that, part of me wants to be _in_ on it, for some weird, twisted reason. Even though I’m with Andrew and it’s going pretty well so far, I’m still just working through a lot of the residual feelings, I guess.”

Victor sighs, suddenly feeling apologetic again. “But what happened between us—that wasn’t because you weren’t _good_ for me, Mia. Because you are. You’re the best friend I have, second maybe to Felix.”

“Your favorite person,” she says sheepishly, ducking her head.

“Exactly,” he says with a little laugh. “I’m so thankful that you’re in my life again. I was...” Victor pauses and takes a deep breath. “I was _really_ alone for a little while, Mia. And I’m lucky that I had Simon and Bram as a safety net. To be completely honest with you, I might not be here if it weren’t for Simon.”

She frowns, lips drawn tight. “Whoah, what?”

“I know, it’s a little dark. And I never actually tried anything, but my mind went there, Mia. And that’s such a scary place to be. I’m in therapy now and everything and I’m starting to work through everything.”

“My god, Victor, I had no idea—”

“No, of course not. You needed your space, and you deserved it. I’m not saying I blame you at _all_. I just mean that…I’m happy that’s in the past. And that I’m here for you, too. I’m getting my shit together, because I’m really tired of always leaning on everybody around me and never giving back.”

Mia smiles knowingly. “That’s very Victor of you. It’s not bad to have people to help you get through the rough times, you know. And none of us ever even _thought_ that you were just using us or anything like that. If you’ll recall, _we_ were the ones who insisted on helping. We had that group chat and everything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, eyes trained on another car as it ambles by.

“You’re not indebted to us, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm. “We did what we did because we wanted you to get better. And it seems like you are. That’s all I could really ask for.”

“I am gonna make it up to you somehow,” he assures her.

Mia shakes her head. “It’s not the worst thing to be stubborn about, I’ll give you that. But really, you don’t have to do anything aside from…I don’t know. Just. Being Victor again. We all felt like we lost you for a little while.”

A shadow passes over Victor’s face; he looks up to see the silhouette of a hawk cutting across the sun, wings stretched wide, soaring on an updraft. “Yeah,” he says. “I felt that way, too.”

She rubs her hand up and down his arm for a second, then pulls away. “I think Dad and Veronica will be back any minute. It, uh…could get awkward if you’re still here.”

“I’ll probably have to talk to them eventually.”

“No doubt,” Mia says, “but I think you’ve been through quite enough today, don’t you?”

Victor laughs. “An understatement, but point taken. I should get going anyway. I have a…a _date_ with Benji,” he says, and those words taste so sweet, they sit light on his tongue and melt. “Mia, thanks again for everything. For—for last night, and today, and just…everything. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, I kinda am, aren’t I?” she says, then pulls Victor into a hug. “Have fun tonight,” she says when she pulls away. “And let me know how it goes. I’m really proud of you, Victor. Even after all of the bullshit, you’re going after what you want. What you _deserve_. I know things are all twisted up and complicated, but don’t lose track of that, okay? Don’t lose track of how strong you are just because being strong is your status quo right now.”

He nods. “I won’t. And I’ll text you with all of the juicy details later. Or can I FaceTime you? I feel like we have a lot to update each other on. I need to hear about what’s going on with the whole Veronica situation.”

“Hoo, boy. Yeah, probably easiest if I just rant to you vocally about that. Not that it’s bad!” she adds. “Things have actually improved a lot, partially because of Spring Fling, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Some good came from it, if you’ll believe that.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Victor says.

“Anyway, you go! We’ll chat later.”

He nods. “Talk to you then.” Victor jogs down the stairs and down the front path. He looks over his shoulder as he goes and Mia gives him a little smile from the front door, and then he turns to focus on where he’s going because damn, his body still hasn’t fully recovered from the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed the previous night.

Victor sticks his hands in his pockets and his heart jumps when he remembers the piece of paper, the address. He pulls out his phone to look at the time: just a few minutes after five. He thinks he has to pass the street on his way home, and him and Benji hadn’t agreed on a concrete time, so what’s a little detour? Worst comes to worst, it’s a different person named Gabe. But there’s an itch somewhere undetectable, and Victor’s been clawing at his skin for the past week in hopes of finding it. This may be just the thing to scratch it.

* * *

Victor takes a deep breath and looks at the paper again, ensuring that the house in front of which he’s standing is definitely the correct one.

He steps up to the door and knocks, then sees there’s a button on the wall, so he gives it a press for good measure.

Suddenly overcome with nerves, Victor takes a step back. If Gabe _is_ here, what conversation awaits Victor? Has he inadvertently done something to piss Gabe enough to block him? Or could it be something worse? Victor’s all out of worst case scenarios, but the phantoms of anxiety still tickle his thoughts as he waits for an answer.

Victor takes a breath to steel himself, wondering if anybody’s even home. There’s no car in the driveway or on the street. He’s about to turn around and forget the whole thing when he hears feet coming down the stairs inside.

The door swings open and Victor forces a smile. It’s an older woman. “Hi, I was just wondering if—” Victor stops. He _recognizes_ this woman, and the blow of that realization forces him to take a step back.

She seems to recognize him as well based on her surprised expression.

And then Victor places the face. Lit by cheap lights, awash in cool glow. She’d comforted him in the hospital waiting room, right after Victor had met Benji’s parents.

“Oh,” he says, mouth dry. “I. I’m sorry. This is—this is so weird.”

She laughs and nods. “It’s definitely strange. Now, what was your name again? Vincent?”

“No, ma’am, it’s Victor,” he says, trying to remember his manners even though he feels like the pavement has started moving under his feet. “And your name is…um…I’m sorry, I can’t remember,” he admits, embarrassed.

“Angelina, dear. That’s all right, we only met in passing after all, and you were in quite the state, too. How are things going, by the way, with the friend you were visiting?”

He smiles, an odd feeling creeping over him. “Um, much better, actually. Things have improved a lot for him in the last week.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful to hear!”

“And what about you?” Victor asks, the details of their brief conversation rushing back. “I know you said your friend’s condition was improving, is that still the case?”

She tilts her head and smiles. “Oh, yes, I’d certainly say so. It won’t be an overnight fix, of course, but I have a lot of hope for him.”

“Great! That’s—that’s great to hear,” says Victor, wiping his hands on his pants to dry the sweat that’s pooled on his palms.

“I’m not sure how you’d feel about this, dear, but would you like to come in? I have some cookies I just made this morning, and I could put on a pot for tea.”

Victor looks back and forth, glancing through windows, trying to glean whether or not this woman might bake _him_ like a cookie if he enters her home. No, he decides, her kindness is too genuine, not the kind that can be faked. “I’m sorry,” he says, remembering his plans, “I’m actually supposed to go meet a friend in a little while. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Of course, dear. I just figured…Well, it’s the strangest coincidence, isn’t it? You showing up at my door like this. Now, you said you were looking for someone?”

Victor almost smacks himself in the forehead. “Oh, right! Yeah. Does somebody named Gabe live here?” he asks.

“Oh, no, I don’t know anybody named Gabe,” she says, looking genuinely disappointed.

He crumples the paper in his pocket. “A previous resident, maybe?”

She raises a finger to her mouth, rests it against her lips. “Could be, but I’ve lived here for decades now. This Gabe, is he an older gentleman?”

Victor sighs, thinks he might cry if he had any liquid left in his body, but the combination of his hangover and all the crying he’s done in the last twenty-four hours leaves him dry. “No, he’s my age. It’s okay, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Not a problem at all, honey,” she says and waves her hands. “If anything, you just made my day! I’m usually quite alone here, so it’s nice to have a visitor now and again, especially a young man as polite and kind as you are,” she says with a warm smile. “Well, don’t let me keep you, Victor. And please, feel free to drop by anytime. I mean it! I know spending time with an old lady isn’t the most exciting summer activity, but…Oh, I don’t know. I’m just rambling now. You go on ahead, and maybe I’ll see you again soon.”

Victor nods, suddenly feeling guilty, like this woman should be his top priority. Plus, free cookies.

But Benji will be waiting for him, and the last thing he wants to do is jeopardize that relationship.

“I appreciate your help. Have a nice day,” Victor says, smiling at the woman before rotating and heading back home. He feels an odd pull from behind, like there’s an enormous magnet in the house, drawing him in, but when he looks over his shoulder the door has already been shut.

* * *

“ _Mami_ , I’m home!” Victor calls as he steps into the apartment.

“Victor? Is that you?” comes her voice from her room.

He chuckles and pushes his right shoe off with his left foot, then does the same with the other. “Yeah, it’s me!”

His mother emerges, looking both happy and worried. “Thank the lord,” she says, a hand clutched to her chest. “I was really worried about you.”

“I know. I’m really sorry, time sort of got away from me, and I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

She nods. “I understand, just try not to let it happen again, all right?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry,” he repeats.

His mother smiles and shakes her head, then pulls him in for a quick embrace. “Did you have fun last night, _mijo_?”

“Yeah, it was great. Thanks for letting me sleep over.”

She flourishes a hand. “Well, it’s summer after all! I don’t want to be the one to stop you from having fun, especially now that you’re seeing your friends again.”

“Speaking of which, I…sort of have dinner plans,” he says with a little wince.

Placing her hands on her hips, she cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re just never going to be home for dinner again, is that it?” she says. “Is it my cooking?”

“No, Mom,” he says with a laugh. “It’s…” He fights a brief but ardent internal battle, the victor of which is the truth. “I’m going on a date, actually. With Benji.”

Her expressions shifts, away from her mock austerity and into surprise, her lips pursing slightly. “Oh. You are.”

“I mean, if that’s okay?”

She sighs and looks around, then rubs her hands on her thighs. “It’s _okay_ , Victor, in regards to, um…Well, you know.”

His nerves are bouncing around inside him, electrical currents jolting through his muscles. A sweat has broken out, the air in the apartment just warm of comfortable.

“Even though things have gotten better, I just worry that you’ve been so distant lately, that’s all. Last night your brother asked about you.”

“He did?”

She nods. “He said, ‘ _Mami_ , is Victor okay? Why is he never here?’ And I told him that it’s because of your job, but he’s just old enough to realize that that was a big white lie. You know how perceptive he is. So I had to explain to him that you’ve just had a lot going on. Pilar and I weren’t sure if he somehow heard about that awful article, but it doesn’t seem like he did. He’s just _worried_ about you, Victor.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, feeling guilty for the hundredth time today. “I’ll talk to him myself, okay? Is he here?”

His mother chuckles and shakes her head, raising a hand to her face to rub at one of her temples. “No, he dragged Pilar to the park. That poor girl, he’s been using her as a chaperone all summer. Not that she would come out of her room otherwise, of course, but I’m sure she didn’t predict that she would spend her first summer here escorting Adrian all around the neighborhood.”

“Well, she didn’t want to spend her first summer here at _all_ ,” Victor reminds her as he walks around her and into the kitchen for a glass of water.

She sighs. “That’s true. I wish she would talk to me the way you do.”

He fills a glass and downs it in four immense gulps, relieved to have hydration on the horizon. He releases a breath of relief. “Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Hm? What is it?” she asks, straightening some sheet music at the piano.

Victor sets the glass down and leans against the counter. “What’s going on with Dad?”

His mother freezes in place, then removes her hands from the pieces of papers and straightens. “Well,” she says and turns to him, scratches at her nose. “We’ve…we’ve only spoken a few times since that night,” she begins and Victor feels the reverberation of his father’s hand on his face. “But we’ve come to a mutual agreement that, um, a divorce is probably the best option for us. We were already planning to spend some time apart, as you know, but after he acted the way he did, I just don’t feel comfortable having him in the same house with you kids. Especially you, Victor.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, sliding the glass back and forth between his hands.

She approaches the counter and stops the glass, then lifts Victor’s chin. “You have nothing to be sorry for, _mijo_. What you did was incredibly brave, and I never could’ve asked you to do it. It never should’ve gotten to the point where you had to, so _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. What he did…it’s unforgivable, you understand?”

Victor nods.

“I love you _so_ so much, and I don’t care if it’s a stranger or your own father. If someone threatens you, if someone _hurts_ you, then they don’t get to come near you anymore.”

“Do you still love him?”

She pulls her hand away from his face and sighs. “I…don’t really know how to answer that. Love is complicated, and deep down, I think there may be a part of me that does love your father still. We’ve both made some mistakes in our marriage, all of them the result of trying too hard to make it work when…well, obviously, it didn’t. You kids are my _life_ , you know that? And what he did just made it all the more clear that I haven’t been prioritizing things correctly, I—I’ve been trying to juggle all of these flaming torches and I didn’t even think about dealing with the person who lit them to begin with.”

Victor allows those words to sink in, Desiree’s assignment for the week in the back of his mind. “But things used to be good, right?”

“Oh, sure. Even after we had you and Pilar, things were still great. But after Adrian…things just seemed to change. Raising three kids is a lot of work, you know,” she says, and gestures for Victor to join her in the living room.

He follows and sits next to her on the couch, their legs angled toward each other.

“And that’s not to blame you kids at all for anything that happened, because it had nothing to do with you. There are plenty of parents who raise three kids or even more and never have problems like this. But…well, money was always a little tight, and then with another mouth to feed it got tighter. That’s just the fact of the matter. And that’s when some of the tensions started, and your father…he never really liked talking about things. Not until it all became too much and he had to just _yell_ about it. You got some of that temper,” she says with a wry smile. “But you’ve always been more willing to let your emotions out. I’m thankful you’re not like him in that way.”

“So…” Victor starts, his hands writhing together in his lap, “do you think that even if I wasn’t…if I wasn’t gay, this still would’ve happened?” he asks, unable to meet his mothers eye.

She gasps. “Oh, _mi amor_ ,” she says and pulls Victor’s head to her shoulder. “No, no, this is _not_ on you, not at all. Yes, I think sooner or later things would’ve reached this point. Especially after everything that happened with—” she sighs. “With Roger. It was just a matter of time.” She releases and Victor sits up. “But you need to know that you being exactly who you are is not a bad thing. And I’m so sorry if his beliefs or—or even _mine_ made you feel like you couldn’t be that person.”

“You seem a lot more okay with it than you did at first,” Victor says, studying his mother’s face for her reaction.

She nods. “It’s been incredibly painful to see you go through this, Victor. Especially with that horrible Creek Secrets thing, it just made me worry about how _hard_ this life is going to be for you. But seeing your father react the way he did, seeing how irrational it was and seeing how it got in the way of his love for you, made him blind to what matters… It made me question my own feelings. I started to wonder why it was that I felt the way I did. And I did some research of course, that always helps.”

Victor laughs and nods. “Trust me, I know.”

His mother smooths down his hair. “I’m still getting used to the idea, of course. But if this is who you are, then I love that part of you, too. I love that part _extra_ , if anything, because it’s new, and it’s special, and I see now that hiding it made you so unhappy. And I realized that if you can’t even feel comfortable in your own home, then where in the world can you?”

“Thanks, _Mami_ ,” Victor murmurs. He leans over and rests his head on her shoulder and she continues to smooth down his hair.

“So, when do I get to meet this Benji? I mean, _really_ meet him.”

Victor sits up. “Um. Well, things are still kinda new between us. There’s a lot that happened over the last month and we were broken up for a while, and today is our first time trying again.”

“Ooh, _escándalo_.”

“No, Mom, it was pretty serious,” he says, and he knows how much like a teenager he sounds, but he also knows that something profound happened between him and Benji, that they hurt each other in ways some adults never even would, but that it wasn’t worth getting into the details with his mother, not in this moment.

She rubs his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make fun. It just seems that your love life is destined to be just like a telenovela. Everything that happened with Mia, and now whatever’s gone on between you and Benji…Well, you just remind me of me in high school,” she says with a laugh. “Your father and I dated on and off, you know, and there were a few boys in between.”

“Mom,” Victor says, pushing her arms away from his shoulder.

“There was this one boy, Christopher Colston, who I only met because he accidentally used the ladies’ room on the first day of classes, and it became our thing to meet in there and—”

“ _Mom_.” He jumps up and claps his hands over his ears. “I don’t need to hear all of that.”

She flashes him a smile and rises. “A good story is a good story! All I’m saying is that high school relationships are usually just that. Stories. I’m excited for you and Benji, I really am, but it sounds like there’s already been a lot of difficulty.”

Victor sighs and drops his hands. “Yeah, there has. We’re working it out, though. Maybe he’s not my forever, but…”

“Oh,” she says, levity gone. “You love him, _si_?”

“ _Si_. I do. So much,” he whispers, feeling juvenile. “And I know that I’m young, and maybe I don’t actually know what love feels like—”

“No, no. Love isn’t just one thing, and true love doesn’t feel the same for every person. So if that’s what you feel in your heart,” she says and lays a hand on his chest, “then I’m not going to discourage you from feeling it. Whatever the feeling is, it’s real. I can tell that just by looking in your eyes. I just.” She sighs and pulls her hands away. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

 _Well, too late for that_ , he thinks.

“It’s in my instinct to protect you. But fear of a broken heart shouldn’t stop you from loving. If it did, none of us would love, and it would be a very sad world, right?”

Victor nods. “Right.”

She looks at him, proud smile on her face, and lifts her shoulders in a sigh. “So you go get ready for your date, okay? Just don’t be out too late.”

“Thanks. I won’t,” he promises. “I love you,” he says.

“ _Te quiero mucho_ ,” she says, then leans up and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You are so important to me, Victor. And I just want you to be happy, but I want you to be _safe_. So promise me you’ll keep me updated on things. After that article, I get a little jumpy thinking about you out in the world with people who could say such horrible things.”

He nods. “I will. I know they’re out there, but I think you’d be surprised how many people are just the opposite. He did get expelled, after all.”

She laughs through her nose. “Fair enough. Now go, Benji is probably waiting for you,” she says, shooing him toward his room. “And! Before you ask, yes, I can drive you.”

Victor gives her one last timid smile before he rushes to his room and jumps into his bed.

A strange electricity is coursing through him, the knowledge that a meal with Benji is so near in the future creating an energizing current.

 **_Victor_ ** _: hey sorry about the delay, I was talking to my mom about some stuff [5:43 PM]_

Almost immediately, Benji replies.

 **_Benji_ ** _: you’re fine! That sounds serious, everything ok? [5:44 PM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: it wasn’t the most fun conversation I’ve had today, but it wasn’t horrible [5:44 PM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: but it’s hard to compete with the fact that I’m finally talking to you again [5:45 PM]_

He grimaces as he sends the second text, wondering if it’s too much, too soon.

Then:

 **_Benji_ ** _: you’re trying to make me blush in this Marco’s [5:45 PM]_

Victor frowns, a slight panic thumping in his chest.

 **_Victor_ ** _: are you already there??? [5:46 PM]_

 **_Benji_ ** _: lol yeah, I was getting jumpy sitting around at home. No rush though, I’ve got a cup of water and straight people music to keep me occupied [5:46 PM]_

Victor rolls out of bed frantically, trying to tear off his shirt and respond at the same time.

 **_Victor_ ** _: what even is “straight people music” lol [5:47 PM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: I still have to shower and get changed btw, but I can be there in like 15 minutes [5:47 PM]_

 **_Benji_ ** _: that’s fine, take your time! [5:47 PM]_

 **_Benji_ ** _: also, I think they’re just cycling through Drake’s entire catalogue. could be worse though [5:48 PM]_

Victor turns on the shower, typing furiously.

 **_Victor_ ** _: hey, I like Drake >:( [5:48 PM]_

 **_Benji_ ** _: lol, I thought you might say that. he’s not bad!! but he makes music for straight people [5:48 PM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: ok, so who makes music for gay people? [5:48 PM]_

 **_Benji_ ** _: Carly Rae Jepsen. Azealia Banks. Dolly Parton. [5:48 PM]_

Victor laughs out loud and sets his phone down, takes the quickest shower he’s taken in his life, then stumbles out of the water and into some clothes, attacking his hair with a towel and then a brush.

He takes a look at himself in the mirror. Imperfections everywhere: his hair is still a bit of a mess, his clothes aren’t anything impressive—just a pair of jeans and a patterned shirt, and he has undereye bags that would put a zombie to shame and a tiny bit of stubble on his chin.

But Benji has already seen some of the lowest of Victor’s lows, and he would much rather go spend time with Benji than stress about shaving or picking the perfect outfit. So he texts Benji to tell him he’s on his way, turns off his light, and shuts his door behind him.

* * *

“Have fun! Text me when you want me to come get you!” his mother calls from inside the car, the passenger side window down.

Victor gestures for her to get the hell out of here. “I will, Mom! Go!”

“Okay! Love you!”

He turns around and shakes his head, smoothing his shirt down as he looks into the window at Marco’s. Benji sits in the corner booth, looking around idly as he drums his fingers on the table and bobs his head in time with the music.

Victor enters the building and Benji turns toward him, the left side of his mouth inching upward to reveal a flash of teeth. He goes to rise but Victor gestures for him to stay seated as he approaches. Benji’s hair is damp and he looks nothing short of adorable, even in a plain black t-shirt with a white palm tree printed on the breast pocket.

“Hey,” he says as Victor sits. “I hope you didn’t feel rushed.”

Victor shakes his head. “Not at all. I really wanted to see you anyway.”

Benji’s cheeks flush with a bit of color and he looks away. “Like I said earlier…”

“Sorry, I can stop if it’s too much.”

“No! No, it’s okay. I’m just. This is weird, right? It’s like a first date, but not really at all?”

Victor nods and adjusts. The booth is old, uncomfortable, but he’d sit on the decrepit padding for hours if Benji were sitting across from him. “Do you want me to order?”

Benji smiles. “Sure. I just want one slice of plain pizza.”

“Come on. Plain?”

“It’s reliable!” Benji says. “I’ve never been disappointed by a piece of plain pizza.”

“But have you ever been _wowed_ by one?” Victor prods.

Benji sighs. “Fine, get me whatever you think will wow me. If it doesn’t, I want my money back.”

“Well, I’m paying, so that’s gonna be a little hard.”

“Wait, Victor—”

But Victor is already out of his seat, shooting Benji a smile over his shoulder and walking up to the counter.

“What can I get for you?” the cashier asks. He’s a teenaged guy, maybe a college student. He looks like he would rather be grinding rocks with his teeth than working at Marco’s.

“Can I get two slices of chicken bacon ranch?”

The cashier yawns. “Anything else?”

“Just a water.”

He takes Victor’s money and slides two pieces of pizza into the oven while he takes a disposable cup and fills it with water from the soda fountain. Victor brings it to the table and sets it down next to the tiny stack of napkins Benji has procured in his absence, then goes back for the two enormous slices of pizza—Marco’s is infamous in Shady Creek for the ridiculous size of their pizzas.

Benji cocks his head as Victor sets the greasy triangle in front of him. “What the heck is that?”

Victor scoffs and plops down, his butt screaming at him as it smacks against the hard seat. “It’s chicken bacon ranch, Benji. Have you ever actually _been_ to Marco’s? It’s, like, their _thing_. I know that and I’ve only lived here for seven months.”

He pokes at the pizza, perplexed, all the energy of a puppy exploring something new. “Chicken _and_ bacon? And why ranch?”

“Just try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you plain, okay?”

Benji chuckles and shakes his head, then lifts the enormous slice to his mouth and takes a bite. He sets it down, chewing, eyes darting around thoughtfully. “Okay,” he says once he’s swallowed, “that does hit different.”

“I told you!”

“Where does all of this infinite wisdom come from?” Benji teases as he takes another bite.

Victor shrugs and takes a big bite of his own slice. “I just like to try new things, I guess.” Even though he’s hungry his stomach is in knots— _garlic knots would be so good right now_ , he thinks—the fact that Benji is really sitting across from him eating Victor’s favorite pizza almost incomprehensible.

“So, um,” Benji starts as he wipes his fingers and his mouth, “what have you been up to in the last month?”

Victor finishes chewing before he answers. “Well, a lot of working. Sarah made me shift leader the other day.”

“Hey, look at you!”

He shrugs. “She also sort of made me acting assistant manager, but now that you’re back, she’ll probably take that away.”

Benji makes a weird face and Victor cocks his head.

“Yeah, about that…I’m taking some more time off from Brasstown, Vic. I actually got harassed on the job a lot after the article.”

Victor’s eyebrows knit together and he leans forward. “What? Sarah didn’t tell me that.”

“Good, it wasn’t really her place to,” Benji says with a little chuckle. “It wasn’t anything horrible. Most of the time people would just use ‘Wendy’ as the name for their order, and I realized it was a problem when that girl from your grade came in and ordered a coffee and I went off on her for two minutes before I remembered her name really is Wendy,” Benji says, pressing his lips together in shame and shaking his head.

“I’m…so sorry, Benji.”

He shrugs. “That’s not the only reason. I think I just need some time to focus on myself, and being around Sarah tends to make my anxiety worse too.”

“Completely understandable,” Victor says. “So when do you think you’ll be back?”

“Not really sure,” Benji says. He picks a piece of chicken off his pizza and pops it in his mouth. “I told Sarah I would get back to her once school starts up again and I have a good handle on my schedule, so.” He shrugs again and eats another piece of chicken. “I picked up some extra hours to try to help my parents pay for one of the first hospital bills and my mom had a breakdown, and then I realized that I don’t have a lot of use for money right now. No more paying for gas, that’s a big one. And I don’t really hang out with people, so I’m not spending money on that either. Anyway, enough about me. What else has been going on with you?”

Victor clears his throat, still trying to process all of what Benji has just told him. “A lot of…sleeping and avoiding people. I started therapy, I think I’ve mentioned that already, right? I also went to New York for a couple of days, which was…”

“Oh. Right,” Benji says, probably remembering what Victor had told him at the hospital. “Was it nice seeing Simon and Bram at least?” he asks, the question stilted, skirting so closely around a time bomb of a topic.

Victor nods and takes a sip of water, crisp and cold. “It was great. I got to meet their friend Abby, too. She’s another Creekwood alum. They all really wanna meet you, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, they did when we were…um…you know, and then we weren’t, but I’m sure if we…yeah.”

Benji smiles. “I get it. I’d really like that. I get the feeling that Simon especially has been a really big help for you. I wish I’d had someone like him for some guidance while I was going through all of my questioning and stuff.”

“He definitely has been,” Victor says, wishing his body would stop think he’s in freefall and calm the hell down. His hands are visibly shaking. “At this point he’s more of a friend than a guide, but I think it’s probably even better that way.”

“Does he come back to Atlanta often?”

“Not a lot. He was here with Bram and Abby recently, and I think they’ll be back at the end of the summer for the carnival.”

“Maybe I can meet them then!”

“Yeah,” Victor says, pressing his palms flat against the table.

Benji frowns in concern. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, then reaches out and brushes his hand against Victor’s, who flinches away and looks around.

In all of his excitement, he hadn’t confronted the fact that this is his first date in public with another boy—well, in Atlanta, at least—and the first time him and Benji have been out in public together since the article. He doesn’t see any familiar faces in the restaurant, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t walk in any minute and see them.

On top of that, he feels like whatever exists between them is so fragile, a hollow glass ball nestled in Victor’s hands. One wrong move and it could fall, smash to the ground and burst. Even these slow, deliberate steps suddenly seem so precarious.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says and pulls his hands into his lap, breaths coming in labored snaps of air. “I just. This is a pretty loaded moment.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling it, too,” Benji murmurs. “Vic, just look at me.”

Victor looks up, into Benji’s eyes, shimmering and green in the fluorescent lighting.

“It’s okay to feel the way you are. Half of the time I was with…you know who, I was terrified for people to see us together in public, always holding my breath and just waiting for someone to say something.”

“But they never did?”

Benji sighs. “No, we definitely got a few comments. But that’s all they were, passing comments from ignorant people who are so unsatisfied with their own lives that the feel the need to bring some strangers down over an outdated belief. It really hurt at first, I can’t lie. But looking back, I just feel _bad_ for those people.”

Victor nods, breathing more easily now.

“Look, if you want, we can just take this with us and go sit in the backyard at my house. Or you can just go home if you want and we can try it again some other time. Today has been a _lot_ , for both of us. Seeing each other again after everything was enough to drain me for a week. Not that I don’t want to be here with you, because I do. I’m just saying it’s fair if you don’t want to stick around. This was sort of a spur of the moment decision anyway.”

“I…yeah,” Victor says, swallowing hard. “I was so excited about getting to see you again that I didn’t even realize that I’m already finding it hard to take things slow,” he says with a little chuckle.

“I know what you mean. There was also a part of me that was…scared that maybe we would have that moment and then…”

“And then things would somehow just go right back to the way they were? Me, too.”

Benji nods. “How about this: we can eat our pizza while I walk you home, and then when we both feel more ready, we can maybe do something a little fancier than Marco’s.”

“Hey, don’t knock Marco’s,” Victor says, grateful that he’s come down from his panic enough to make an attempt at a joke. “I like that idea, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s get going, then. At least it’s a nice night, right?”

Victor smiles and grabs his grease-laden paper plate and half eaten pizza and follows Benji out the door. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees. And it could be below freezing and the earth could be cracking in half, but Benji is walking beside him and eating Marco’s pizza and laughing about some stupid customer he encounter a while back that he never got to tell Victor about, and Victor tilts his head upward, up at the sky that’s just beginning to tie-dye itself with the colors of evening.

A moment of clarity, perfect in that it’s fleeting, ineffable, long overdue.

Victor takes a bite of pizza and listens to the hymn of Benji’s voice as they stroll the streets of Shady Creek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a little gift for waiting so long between updates, I've decided it's finally time to release the GTFA playlist!! This is a collection of songs that have inspired or just fit well with the plot points and themes of this fic, and I hope you enjoy and maybe even listen along while you read! [This link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7L3kO1sYMOOgGEmS4JphMw?si=SOB9NvqdSV2rfNUhO3btnw) will take you to the playlist on Spotify, but if you don't have Spotify I've also put together a graphic with all of the songs so you can check them out for yourself!
> 
>   
> 


	17. Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTRITION; _n_. — sincere penitence or remorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW, I really thought this was gonna be a shorter chapter, but it really seems like these last couple are just gonna be monstrosities! I also went for a bit of a different approach with this one, and I'm hoping it will pay off. So, if you're feeling like there's a lack of Venji until towards the end, you're not crazy! It's intentional <3
> 
> ALSO!??!?! This fic is now my 2nd most read fic of all time, which just ;-; y'all thanks so much for all of your continued interest.
> 
> OK, I'll keep it short this time. Enjoy!!

Talking with Mia after everything that’s transpired feels strange. While he would love to be able to spend more time with her in person, Benji’s absence from Brasstown means Victor’s picked up extra hours. A _lot_ of them. He’s worked more double shifts than should be legal (when he thinks about it, he wonders if it _is_ legal; he’s only sixteen, after all. But knowing for sure wouldn’t make the situation better or worse, so he’s decided not to do any research).

So they’re relegated to FaceTime, for the most part, because texting is inefficient and phone calls with most people make Victor’s palms sweat.

It’s odd, the way they’re getting to know each other all over again. It reminds Victor of his relationship with Benji, the way over half a summer has gone by and suddenly some kind of reset button has been smashed so hard that the plastic pieces are strewn about the floor. Their edges are uneven and if Victor steps on one it will surely puncture his sole, but that’s just the price of such a hard reset.

For the first few days after Mia’s party, their conversations are shorter, more focused on their days, what they’ve been up to. Mia tells Victor about Andrew, which still makes him squirm, but the more information she divulges, the more Victor wonders if his initial impression had just been way off.

“So, today, when Andrew picked me up to take me to karaoke,” Mia starts one day (at which Victor snorts, because the idea of Andrew doing karaoke is absurd), “he came up to my door with a bouquet and a little necklace in a box.”

“Sounds a little cheesy.”

Mia rolls her eyes and her picture goes dark as she goes to check another notification on her phone. “That means nothing coming from you, Vic,” she says, Victor’s screen is still dark, so he allows himself to smile. “Anyway, the necklace wasn’t anything crazy, but it has a little microphone charm on it. See?” she says, suddenly back. Mia pinches her necklace between her fingers and brings the charm closer to the camera.

Sure enough, it’s a little metallic microphone. “He got you that just to commemorate a _date_?”

“Well, it was our three months,” she says. “Personally, I’m not getting him _shit_ until _at least_ half a year, but what am I supposed to do? Turn down a cute necklace?”

“No, I guess not,” Victor says with a laugh. “So he’s a big softie, is what you’re telling me?”

She scoffs, faux indignation on her face. “Again, that is _really_ bold coming from Mister Romance Twenty-Twenty. He’s just sweet, Victor. And he likes to treat me to things.”

Victor nods. Is that idea really so crazy? No, but the idea of _Andrew_ being such a sap is still throwing him for a loop.

“Honestly, I think you’ve rubbed off on him a bit,” she says after a silence.

Victor sits up in bed and scrunches his features together. “What? We don’t even talk, not since the semester ended.”

“No, I know. But I…I’ve talked _about_ you. He’s sort of been in on all of the stuff that was happening while we were trying to get you and Benji back together, too, so he’s heard Benji talk about you, which…Well, I don’t know how Benji talks _to_ you, but hearing him talk about you is something different.”

He clears his throat and blinks, the heat in his face stinging his eyes. “Interesting,” he manages.

“Yeah. Anyway, my point is, the way he’s acting is—well, honestly, it reminds me of how you treated me when we were together.”

_Oh. So we’re at the point where we can talk about that._

“Minus that stuff at the end, I hope,” Victor wagers, hoping the joke lands.

Luckily, Mia throws her head back in laughter. “So far, so good.”

“It’s not…weird for us to talk about it, right? Like, it happened, so…”

She tilts her head. “I think we’re both mature enough to joke about it, right? Plus, I don’t know…What great female artist hasn’t had a boyfriend or two that turned out to be gay?”

“Fair enough,” Victor says with a little chuckle.

“I will say, if I _do_ catch Andrew kissing a boy, I’m gonna start wondering if I’m the problem.”

Victor shakes his head. “I can’t imagine you being a problem.”

Mia sighs; Victor wonders if this was too serious a thing to say.

“Oh!” Mia says. Victor almost drops his phone. “What ever happened with that address I gave you?”

He grimaces and sinks down further into his pillows. For a moment, Victor wonders if he should tell Mia about Angelina, about the strange feeling that seemed to waft out into the air from behind her, from in that home, but he decides he’s brought enough strangeness into her life. “It ended up not being him,” he says. “Thanks for trying, though. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course. It was sort of fun to dig around anyway.”

“Even if it was illegal.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

“Not locked away in prison, I’ll tell you that.”

She laughs and disappears again. Another quiet settles in, broken only by the tapping of Mia’s nails against her phone.

Victor starts to contemplate the lengths she’s gone to for him, especially held up to the craterous black mass he’d created in the last few weeks of their relationship, the thorny weight he’s been carrying around on his shoulders. Mia has done too much for him and then some.

“Hey, Mia, that’s Andrew texting you, isn’t it?”

She laughs through her nose, still not visible. “Maybe. Why?”

“I don’t wanna keep you. We can talk later. Or tomorrow.”

Mia appears on his screen again. “Are you sure? I feel bad, that was sort of crappy for me to be having two conversations at once.”

Victor pushes his feet off the bed at rights himself with a little grunt. “Don’t worry about it. I think I should probably get to sleep soon anyway.”

“It’s nine p.m.”

He laughs. “I know, total abuela status. Working around coffee all day is _not_ the energy boost you might think.”

“Oh, yeah, but you worked a double, right?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have to close, luckily, but working from open to five is still a hell of a shift.”

Mia pauses; for a moment, Victor thinks the connection’s broken and she’s frozen, but then her lips twist into a soft smile. “I’m really glad we’re talking again, Victor.”

The truth is this: Victor is terrified every time he speaks to Mia. Not because she’s fragile—if anything, for the opposite reason. Mia is strong, and confident, and incredible, and he’d still managed to carelessly drop her. No part of him would ever let it happen again, but then, hadn’t he had nothing but good (if misguided) intentions when they were together? Who’s to say he might not lose his perspective and hurt her again?

“Me, too,” he says, his mouth pressed into a closed smile. “Are you free at all in the next couple of days? I think I might have a day where I’m not at Brasstown from dawn until dusk.”

She nods. “Yup, you know me. No real plans, just art and the occasional date with Andrew.”

“And by occasional, you mean…?”

“I mean we spend almost every day together, yes, but his ego will recover if I decide to break our unspoken perpetual plans,” she says, pulling at a strand of hair hanging down in front of her eyes.

Victor nods. “Cool. I’ll text you when I figure out which day it is, okay?”

“Sounds good. Night, Victor!”

“Night,” he says and collapses back onto his bed. With a _whoosh_ , all he’s left with is the image of his own face, exhausted. It’s a more mundane exhaustion, though, the kind born of being on his feet for hours on end, from putting on a smile and his customer-service voice and adeptly throwing together beverage after beverage. It’s not the same exhaustion that’s dogged him for the better part of the summer. No, that seems to be an entity of the past, at least for now.

Still, his relationship with Mia still feels so…one-sided. Sure, he’d never _asked_ for her to lock him in a room with Benji so they could hash out all of their drama, but it was still a huge risk that she took for Victor’s benefit, and he’s having a hard time accepting that. Not to mention the fact that she’s been nothing but supportive and encouraging to Victor, even after all the harm he caused. Her hacking and internet sleuthing have been particularly impressive, and—

 _Wait_.

Victor cracks his knuckles and grabs his laptop.

While there’s no way he has the same chops Mia has, he’s done his fair share of social media stalking. After all, this is the boy who sent an aggressive message to Simon Spier out of the blue, who stalked Benji Campbell down to his first photo _and_ even stalked the social media pages for The Sticky Beaks for good measure, the boy who used to spend hours at a time looking at Instagram profile of gay influencers, finding out who they were dating, who their friends were, what their lives were like.

Okay, so maybe he’s just a gen z gay with a cell phone and an internet connection. But he has a plan to make things up to Mia, and it starts—as all of the most illicit espionage does—on Facebook.

“Victor! Over here!”

Victor’s head snaps to the left and he spots Mia, lounging on tartan-print blanket in the shade of a tree. The park is surprisingly vacant for such a beautiful summer afternoon, but all the better. Privacy is probably the name of the game here.

He jogs over to her, grateful to have an outlet for his nervous energy. To his surprise, she rises and hugs him once he reaches the blanket—just a quick embrace, but one that’s unmistakably packed with meaning. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bounces in his throat.

“How was your shift?”

Victor grins and sits, pulling his legs underneath him. “It was good. Crazy how quickly it goes by when it’s a normal amount of time.”

“True. You got a raise though, right? So all of those hours probably add up.”

“I did, yeah. Shift leader and acting assistant manager. But that’s just until Benji gets back.”

“Right. How is he? How are the two of you?”

A breeze blows by, momentary relief from the slight humidity of the day. Even in the shade Victor finds himself sweating, though that’s probably more the nerves than anything. Across from him, Mia looks perfectly comfortable, a pair of shades resting on her nose.

“Good. He’s good. We’re, uh, still working it out, but I think we’re both putting in a lot of effort, which is good. Look, I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her supportive smile wavers; she leans back on her hands, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, feet bare. “Whoah, that sounds serious,” she says with a nervous chuckle.

“It’s not! Well, maybe a little,” he says and clears his throat. “So, I’ve been trying to think of a way to make things up to you, and—”

“Victor,” Mia warns, “I already told you. You don’t have to—” she pushes off her hands and makes a vague, circular gesture with them. “You don’t _owe_ me anything. That’s not how friendship works. I helped out because I wanted to, and you’ve been nothing but thankful ever since. I don’t feel put out at all.” Mia shrugs and leans back again.

“Okay, well…I still want to make my proposal.”

“Is there chocolate involved? Or a cheese basket?”

Victor frowns. “No. Why? Do you want a cheese basket, because I know this place—”

“ _No_ , Victor!” Mia says with a high laugh, a sound that shakes the leaves of the tree above. “That was just a joke.”

He narrows his eyes. “Fine, but if you want a cheese basket, just let me know and I can make it happen.”

Mia raises one hand, pulls her shades down her nose away from her eyes, and gives him a done-with-your-bullshit glare. “Just get to your proposal,” she says, then replaces the glasses with a smirk.

He nods and shifts up onto his knees so he can pull his phone out of his pocket. “So, I’ve been doing some digging around on the Internet—nothing Mia level, obviously, but I did my best—and…I think I, uh…I think I found your mom.”

Victor pauses and waits for her reaction, but there is none. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I—I think I found your mom. She has a Facebook profile but the last name must be her maiden name,” Victor explains, speeding through the words, hot and volatile on his tongue. “Anyway, I just figured maybe you could reach out to her if you wanted to.”

“Victor,” Mia says, her voice grim. “You…you shouldn’t have done this.”

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._ It was a calculated risk, but maybe Victor isn’t as good at math as he thought. “But…I’m sorry, but I just thought maybe this would help you reconnect or something.” He hangs his head and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“Look, I understand what you were trying to do, but…Victor, no.”

He’s overstepped. Of _course_ this is overstepping, and if he weren’t so hellbent on trying to make things even with Mia, maybe he would’ve seen that.

“It’s never been an issue of not being _able_ to contact her,” Mia says, mirroring his body and pulling her legs in. “She—she left, yes, but my dad still has her contact information, and as far as we can tell, it’s all still the same. Plus, she called me once, remember? And it was the same number.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I…I can’t talk to her, Victor, but not for that reason. I just _can’t_. I don’t want to. At least not now, not yet. Things are still weird right now with Veronica, but honestly, she’s been more of a mother to me in the short time she’s been with my dad than my mom’s been in the last decade. Maybe someday…” Mia looks off into the sky; Victor follows her gaze and finds a single cloud paddling through the blue like a child learning to swim. “I don’t know. Maybe someday,” she repeats. “But not now.”

“I—I’m _so_ sorry,” Victor says. He wants to blame the harsh sunlight for the tears welling in his eyes, but in reality he’s ashamed, embarrassed. “I wasn’t thinking. I just…since my dad left, even though he was an absolute dick, I’ve been wondering if things would change if I could talk to him, you know?”

Mia wraps her arms around herself. “But do you _really_ want to talk to him? Do you think it would make a difference?”

Victor shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“Right. Now take that doubt and multiply it by five years.”

A child shouts off in the distance, a sound that could be joy, could be terror.

“I’m sorry, I should have stayed in my lane,” Victor says, eyes locked on the blanket between them. “I just wanted to do _something_ to thank you, and I guess I got lost in that.”

“I get it. And I appreciate the intention, Victor, I really do. Can we just…can we talk about something else?”

Victor nods. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“But you’re something.”

“Yeah, I’m hungry. That cheese basket is sounding pretty good right now.”

Victor finally looks up to find Mia grinning at him. He takes in a long, slow breath, one that stretches his diaphragm, and smiles back. “I don’t know if they’ll be able to do anything on such short notice.”

She sighs dramatically and wiggles her toes. “That’s okay. I think I have some shredded cheddar in my fridge at home.”

Victor laughs, and he realizes what a gift that is, to laugh with Mia. So he laughs some more, and Mia joins him, and they laugh in the shade until Victor’s sides hurt, and then they keep laughing until the sounds morph in Victor’s ears, until all he can hear is “I forgive you,” and “Let’s always be friends,” and “I never want to hurt you again.”

* * *

Victor rings the doorbell, his nerves jolty. What the hell is he doing here? Last time they’d spoken he felt nothing but warmth, but this could still end up with him baked into a Victor pie.

And nobody would ever know, because he’d felt strange about telling anybody that what he was about to do on a Saturday afternoon was spend an hour with an older woman he’s only met twice.

 _This is fucking weird, right?_ he keeps thinking, and yet, here he is at Angelina’s door, throwing glances behind him, wondering if anybody he knows might see him here.

The door swings open and he startles, turning back toward it with a smile.

“Victor! Well, this is a surprise,” she says with a big smile.

He nods. “Is this a bad time? I wasn’t sure how to contact you aside from just…sort of…showing up?”

“Of course, of course,” she says with a little wave of her hand. “Would you like to come in?”

Part of him wants to say _no, I was just checking in, because apparently that’s something I’ll be doing now that I know where you live_ , but he grins and follows her inside.

Angelina’s home is quiet, soft. Victor notices a strange lack of photos, nothing to indicate that she has family or friends. But there are several gorgeous paintings scattered about, watercolors from the looks of it. Mostly colorful renderings of the sky at sunrise or sunset. It’s impossible to know whether the sun is rising or falling when it’s frozen on the horizon for eternity. Mia might appreciate the paintings more than Victor does. Benji definitely would.

She leads him into a sitting room where more paintings coat the walls. A large window looks out onto the street and light streams in, filling the space with a beautiful, open glow.

“Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got water, of course, or I think I have some sweet tea?”

“Sweet tea would be great, thanks,” Victor says with a little nod.

She gestures to a particularly comfy looking armchair as she leaves the room; Victor plops down and continues to study his surroundings. Strange knickknacks line shelves: a statuette of two cats playing with a ball of yarn, an alarm clock that must be broken, since both of its hands are stuck on the wrong time, a cherub with a chipped wing, several intricate clay pots, and a bowl filled with hard candies.

“Would you like lemon, dear?” Angelina calls from the kitchen.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Victor says.

“No, not at all!” she calls back.

A moment later, Angelina returns to the sitting room; in her arms is a large tray with two glasses, a pitcher, and a plate of little sandwiches.

Victor sits up straighter. “Did you just make those?”

“Hm?” She cocks her head as she places the tray down on a coffee table, then sits opposite Victor. “Oh, the sandwiches! No, I just…I had a feeling someone might be coming by,” she says with a cheery smile.

He seems to remember her saying that she doesn’t get many visitors, so this must be her way of saying that she expected _him_.

“So, Victor, tell me a little more about yourself! It’s a bit silly and maybe awkward, but I was thinking after I saw you last week that I hardly know anything about you.”

After taking a bite of a sandwich—delicious cucumbers tucked between fluffy slices of white bread—Victor nods. “Um, sure. Well, I’m about to be a junior at Creekwood High. I’m on the basketball team there.”

“Ooh, that’s wonderful!” she coos as she pours him a glass of sweet tea, ice cubes and a slice of lemon already nestled in the bottom of the cup.

“I also work at Brasstown Cafe, you know, that little coffee shop—”

“Oh, of course I know Brasstown! Been around just about as long as I can remember.”

Victor frowns as he takes another bite of his sandwich, then washes it down with a sip of his sweet tea. He was under the impression that Brasstown was a relatively new establishment, but nobody had ever confirmed or denied that suspicion, so it’s possible he was just incorrect.

“And what do you do in your free time?”

He pauses. What _does_ he do in his free time? “I don’t have a lot of it this summer, actually,” he says with a little chuckle. “I’ve taken a couple of trips out of town, but other than that it’s a lot of just…working and…talking to friends, I guess?”

She nods and takes a sip of her own beverage. “Saving up for something?”

“Nothing in particular, honestly,” Victor says. “I got the job as a way to pay for basketball stuff, but once I paid for that…yeah, I don’t know. Maybe a car eventually?”

She hums and takes another sip. “And tell me about this friend you were visiting in the hospital. If you don’t mind!” she adds with a laugh.

He has a choice to make here. This kind stranger isn’t entitled to all of the details, but something about her makes Victor recoil at the idea of lying to her, even by omission. “His name’s Benji. He was, um…he was my boyfriend, and then a lot of stuff went down and we broke up for a while. Seeing him in the hospital was actually the first time I’d really talked to him since all of it happened.”

“And how did that work out?”

He chuckles and scratches at his shoulder. “At first, not so good. But things are much better now. We’re…well we’re not really calling it anything yet, but we’re spending time together again.”

“Well, that’s just lovely,” she says. Her smile is like the smell of laundry, like familiar arms wrapping around Victor’s body. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you seem like a completely different person now than the day I met you. I got the sense that you were deeply troubled about something.”

He sets down the uneaten half of his sandwich. “I guess you could say that. To be honest…I still am. I’ve been going to therapy, and it’s definitely helping me come to terms with some things, but—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear all of that.”

“Why not?”

He blinks and bites at the inside of his lip. “Well, I don’t know. We don’t really know each other that well, so I don’t want to just dump all of my stuff on you.”

“But I asked, didn’t I?” she says, and coming from anyone else Victor might feel put off by this, but he takes her point. “You know, I’ve got quite a few years under my belt. I might be able to impart some wisdom.”

Victor sighs. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and…I don’t know. Some pretty traumatic things have happened to me, but what I’m really struggling to get over was how I reacted to those things.”

“Why’s that?”

“I…I hurt people. People I really care about, people I _love_. And they’re all still in my life, but for some reason I feel even more guilty about that. Like, they should be _mad_ at me, but they’ve been nothing but helpful and kind since I turned things around and stopped cutting everybody off.”

She taps her nails against her glass, a gentle tinkle that soothes Victor’s nerves. “It sounds like you learned some things about yourself.”

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know the person I am anymore,” he admits. It’s not something he’s consciously thought about much until this moment; he’d never thought about his capacity to cause pain. He always thought he was the person to help others heal, to clean up wounds and patch them with care. The idea that he’s turned around and been the cause of pain for others…

“Honey, you can’t beat yourself up over what you’ve done. I don’t know the details, of course, but your friends care about you. They _love_ you. Sometimes, all you can do is love them back, and love them as hard as you can.”

Victor nods, a tightness in his chest squeezing and unfurling, squeezing, unfurling. “I want to believe you’re right. I’m trying.”

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” she says, then leans forward and grasps his knee. “The trying is the most important part. Whether you succeed or fail pales in comparison to the bravery of trying.”

Unsure what to say, Victor just stares into her eyes, an odd peace washing over him. _Trying_. If there’s one thing he’s proven to himself by now, it’s that he can try.

Angelina pats his knee and stands suddenly. “I have brownies in the oven. Will you eat a brownie?”

Victor grins. He hadn’t even noticed the smell before, but suddenly a chocolatey aroma fills the air. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks so much.”

“Of course, honey,” Angelina says. She turns to leave, pauses, then faces Victor again. She crouches down and lays a hand against his cheek. “Forgiveness, Victor, is crucial. But don’t lose track of who it is that needs to be forgiven by whom.” She lingers for half a second more, then pulls away and disappears down the hall again.

He touches the spot where her hand had been, his eyebrows knit together, perplexed. _What the hell does that mean?_ Nobody has wronged Victor in the slightest. Had she misinterpreted his explanation? His friends have been nothing but gracious during this summer of turmoil. What would he have to forgive _them_ for?

But he doesn’t have much time to think about it, because there’s a ding from the kitchen and moments later Angelina is in the sitting room with a plate of brownies, and she’s telling Victor about her life, her late husband, how by the time they’d been desperate enough to go to a doctor, her husband’s health was declining. How she never got the opportunity to have children of her own.

Victor takes another brownie, and then a third for good measure as he listens.

* * *

“Victor, you’re scaring me a little.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. Pilar is sitting across from him in their living room, Brasstown iced coffee in hand. “What’s so scary about this?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a little shake of her head. She widen her eyes and takes a sip through her straw. “But you brought me home free coffee and then told me you wanted to _talk_.”

“It wasn’t free, I had to pay.”

She sucks down another sip and flips her hand over. “Exactly! That’s even weirder!”

“Okay, okay,” he says and shows his palms in surrender. “Let me just get to what I have to say, and then you can disappear into your room.”

Pilar gnaws on her straw thoughtfully. “Does this have to do with Benji?”

“What?” Victor says, thrown off. “Why would it?”

She shrugs. “I thought maybe you wanted to ask me boy advice or something.”

He blinks to clear this idea out of his mind. “No, I wanted to _apologize_ to you.”

She frowns. “For what?” she asks, the straw still between her teeth.

“Everything, I guess. I haven’t really been a great brother the last couple of months.”

Pilar sets the drink down on the coffee table with a sigh. “Victor, you’ve had so much shit going on—” she flinches when she realizes she’s cursed, but their mother is off in her room, enjoying a late afternoon siesta. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like to be you this summer.”

“I know, but I’ve really asked a lot of you. You’ve covered for me on some _really_ big stuff.”

She crosses her arms. “Maybe, but you did chores in return, remember?”

“We both know it’s not as simple as that.”

“Fine. Maybe not. But you seem much better these days.”

He nods. “I feel better, too.”

“Good. That’s what’s important to me.” She lowers her eyes, unable to meet his gaze.

Victor pauses, then rises from his chair.

Pilar looks up at him, confused.

“Stand up,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Come on, _up_!”

She pulls her chin back and frowns at him, but tentatively rises to her feet.

Then, Victor steps forward and hugs his sister.

He’s half expecting her to push him away or exclaim in disgust, but instead she returns the embrace.

“I never blamed you, you know,” she says quietly. “Not for any of it. I didn’t blame you, I just…I missed my big brother. And he’s back now, so as far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Victor says nothing, just squeezes her tighter, the waves of her hair tickling his cheek.

“Okay, how long are we gonna do this?” she asks after a moment.

Pulling away, Victor laughs. “I love you, Pilar.”

“Gross,” she says with a dopey smile. “I love you too, _cabrón_. But if you spring sentimental bullshit on me like this again—”

“I know, it won’t happen again,” Victor says with a chuckle. “Can we spend more time together, though?”

Pilar pauses. “Honestly, it’s been a really lonely summer **.** I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Is there more free coffee involved?”

He shakes his head with a smile. “No, but there’s plenty of _discounted_ coffee.”

Pilar purses her lips and glances upward, thinking it over. “Okay. I can vibe with that.”

“Perfect. What are you doing right now?”

She sits and picks up her cup. “Well, I already have a coffee, so…”

“You’re impossible,” he says, but he can’t stop smiling. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Sure. Tomorrow,” she says with an obnoxiously loud sip.

Victor gives her one last smile before shuffling off to his room and following his mother’s lead. A nap is exactly what he needs.

* * *

_Krrt!_ “Victor to Felix. Over.”

Victor pauses, the walkie in his hand and his heart in his throat. He can’t put his finger on what makes him so nervous regarding what he’s about to do, especially knowing Felix. But his body seems to think he should be concerned.

“This is Felix at your service, how may I assist you? Over.”

He licks his lips and raises the walkie to them. “Well, I—” he releases the button, waits a second, then continues. “—and I thought maybe we could—”

After a second, Felix’s voice comes through again. “Victor? What’s going on, are you super far away or something? Over.”

Nervous laughter bubbles over his lips. “Meet me—” Release. “—hallway. Over.”

“Okay,” Felix says, sounding suspicious. “See you in a sec. Over and out.”

Victor grabs the box that’s been sitting at the edge of his bed and bounces up and down on his heels for a second. This is completely normal, even though his brain keeps tricking him into thinking that his plan is completely absurd. Has he really gotten so jumbled that even a simple act of kindness feels like a leap of faith?

Before he can change his mind he blows out a steady breath, his cheeks puffing, and takes his box out into the hallway. Felix is already leaning against the railing, looking concerned.

“Hey, man. What the hell is going on with your walkie?” Felix asks. He stares at Victor, who can tell that Felix is clearly trying not to bore into the box in his hands with his eyes.

Victor grins. “Okay, so, technically nothing. But I’ve noticed lately that the sound quality has been a little bit crappy and I was worried that it might be on its way out. So—” he says and sets the box down. “I got us a new pair.”

He opens the flaps to reveal two walkies, a bit larger than the ones they’ve been using.

“Whoah,” Felix says. “Are these…Victor, are these _military grade_?”

Victor laughs as Felix crouches down and takes one of the devices from its container. “They sure are. I know they’re not quite as _whimsical_ as the old pair, so I figure we can just have them for backup. Just in case.”

“Dude, these are incredible!” Felix says and hops to his feet. His smile suddenly hits a wall. “Wait. There’s no way these didn’t cost you a big chunk of change.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Victor says and waves his hands. “Seriously, Felix!” he says when Felix goes to protest. “I mean it. I had a bunch of money just sitting around from all the extra hours I’ve picked up recently. Plus, it’s just as much for me as it is for you, right?”

Felix looks down at the walkie in his hand, looking almost shameful. “Yeah, yeah I guess that’s true. I just. _Wow_ , Victor. Thanks.”

Victor shrugs. “It was the least I could do. I’ve really come around on the whole walkie thing, and— _oh_.”

Felix’s arms are around Victor, the walkie gently poking into his lower back. He doesn’t say anything, just rests his head on Victor’s shoulder.

Returning the hug, Victor’s intuition starts clanging in his ears. When Felix pulls away, Victor keeps his hand on his friend’s shoulders. “Felix, what’s going on?” Because there are tears in Felix’s eyes, and the reversal of roles is like whiplash.

“It’s nothing,” Felix says and hastily wipes at his eyes, pulling away from Victor. “I just, um.”

“Felix. If something’s wrong, please tell me.”

Felix turns on the spot, a closed hand pressed between his eyes. “ _Agh_. I’m sorry,” he says, eyes squeezed tight. He takes a deep breath. “Things have just been really bad with my mom lately, and Lake’s been really busy so I’m starting to wonder if she’s not interested in making time for me anymore, and I’ve just been feeling super alone. I know it’s dumb but I went into one of those spirals of wondering if all my friends secretly hate me—”

It’s Victor’s turn to interrupt Felix with a hug. “I could never, Felix. You’re the one person who’s always been there for me, even when I probably didn’t deserve it. I could never hate you,” Victor says.

“Part of me knows that,” Felix mumbles into Victor’s shoulder. “But sometimes it’s so hard to remember. Especially at night.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Victor says. “ _Trust_ me. I know the awful places your brain can take you when you’re alone. If anything, that’s why it’s important you always have a way to contact me.”

Felix steps back and chuckles, shaking his head as he dries his eyes again. “I mean, I could always just text you if I got really desperate. But thanks, Victor. I don’t know why I was so afraid to tell you that, especially after everything _you’ve_ told _me_. I think part of me was afraid…”

“Afraid what?” Victor prompts.

“Well, now that you’re back with Benji, I was worried you might…I don’t know. It’s dumb, especially since I’m dating someone too.”

Victor shakes his head. “No, I understand. Things are never _simple_ with me and Benji. It’s a little different, I think. But I’m not gonna drop you for him. We have to have each other’s backs, right?” Victor says and pats Felix’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we do. Hey, are you busy right now? I feel like going for a walk or something. I’m sick of sitting around and wasting this summer.”

Victor smiles. “Yeah, me too. Let me just go put shoes on, okay?”

“Meet you back here in five,” Felix says and returns the grin, eyes still slightly red. He waggles his hand that’s holding the walkie talkie and turns to climb the stairs.

Victor pauses for a moment, a strange sense of fulfillment rolling around in his chest cavity. The last thing he wants is to see Felix upset, but part of him is grateful that Felix is still willing to share those moments with him, to let Victor in and lean on his shoulder just like Victor’s leaned on his countless times.

He smiles down at the box on the floor, grasps the edges, and hikes it up into his arms.

* * *

“Hey, bud. Mind if I come in?” Victor asks as he peeks his head into Adrian’s room. His brother is on the floor, surrounded by a semi-circle of toys.

Adrian blinks up at him. “Will it be long? I’m just about to start act two.”

Victor ducks his head in an attempt to hide his laughter from Adrian. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Okay,” Adrian says, his attention already back on the monster truck in his hand.

He clears his throat and steps into the room, a box hidden behind his back. “So, I think you’ve noticed that I haven’t been around a whole lot lately.”

“Yeah,” Adrian says, slight edge to his voice. “I guess so.”

Victor nods and sits down across from him, then brings the box out from behind his back.

Adrian gasps at the sight of it: an Elsa doll, complete with accessories and a transforming dress. “Is that for me?” he asks, eyes wide with wonder.

“Yeah, it’s all yours,” Victor says. He ruffles Adrian’s hair as he takes the toy gently, awed. It’s a box Adrian’s had his eye on for months, Victor knows, but there haven’t been any holidays or birthdays. The Salazars rarely add new toys to their collection outside of those occasions.

“Thanks, Victor,” Adrian whispers, his gaze still trained on Elsa.

“I have something I want to say, too,” Victor says as Adrian carefully takes to the box, preserving all the packing as he opens it. Not that he would say it, but Victor needs his brother to know that he’s not just trying to buy him.

Adrian nods, tiny fingers untwisting the wires chaining Elsa to her plastic dungeon.

“So, like I said, I know I haven’t been around much. Part of that is because of my job, but another part of it is because…I’ve been dealing with some really difficult things in my life. And they’re not fully better yet, but I’m in a much better place. But there’s something _really_ important that I want to share with you,” Victor says. He shoves his hands in his lap; he doesn’t want Adrian to see how much they’re shaking. “Can you focus on me, just for a second?” Victor asks gently.

With a nod, Adrian sets the box down beside him, Elsa now free.

“You’re a little young to be thinking about things like this, but I think you’re mature enough to understand it. So—” He clears his throat, mouth suddenly arid, parched. Why is this so hard? Adrian idolizes Victor, and practically nothing he can say will change that. “So, you know how most people have two parents, a mom and a dad?”

“Sure,” Adrian says with a nod.

“Well, a lot of the times, a relationship is between a man and a woman—a boy and a girl. You remember that girl Mia who used to be here a lot?”

Another nod. “She was really nice. She didn’t mind being Anna when I wanted to be Elsa.”

“Right, exactly,” Victor says with a nervous chuckle. “She _was_ my girlfriend. But you knew that, right?”

“Yeah, I knew that.”

Victor presses his lips together and takes in a breath, anxiety spasming around his heart. “Well, we broke up because—well, the literal reason isn’t important. But, as it turns out, I…I don’t like girls that way,” he says. Adrian’s face remains unchanged, so Victor presses on. “It turns out I like _boys_ that way.”

Adrian blinks at him. “So you’re gay?”

“I—what?” Victor asks, his jaw dropping. “You know what that means?”

With a roll of his eyes, Adrian grabs his monster truck again. “Of _course_ I do. Kids at school call me gay all the time.”

“Oh,” Victor says with a frown. “Well that’s not very nice.”

“It doesn’t bother me. And if _you’re_ gay, how bad can it be?” Adrian asks, standing Elsa up and then running her over with the truck.

Victor claps a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. “That’s a really good point, actually. It’ll probably be a while before you start thinking about that kind of thing, but it’s good that you think that way. It’s not a bad thing to be gay.”

“Does this mean you have a boyfriend now instead of a girlfriend?”

“Well…it’s complicated. Maybe I’ll explain it to you another day.”

Adrian backs up the truck and takes another run at Elsa, and this time Victor isn’t able to contain his laughter. Adrian shakes his head with a pout. “It’s not funny, Elsa is gonna need medical attention.”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” Victor says and ruffles his brother’s hair again. “Thanks for being the best, Adrian.”

“You’re welcome,” Adrian says, distracted as he takes a helicopter and what appears to be a shoelace, strapping Elsa to the landing skids. “Was there something else, or can I focus on airlifting Elsa to the hospital?”

Victor snorts and pushes himself to his feet. “No, that was all. Just that, and a promise that I’m gonna be around for you a little more.”

Adrian looks up at him with a smile, like the spell his toys have over him has been broken. “Cool.”

“Love you, _chaparro_.”

“You too,” Adrian says, and then he’s lost again in his fantasy.

Victor idles for a second, watching Adrian play, and then exits his brother’s room.

* * *

Seeing Miranda’s name on the schedule makes Victor’s throat tighten. In fact, the entire walk to Brasstown he’s out of breath, each burst of air entering his lungs with an anxious whistle. She’s been absent since the news dropped. Victor doesn’t blame her; most days, going to work feels like walking across a bed of coals with no shoes. Or socks. Or pants.

And even though he’s almost entirely positive that Miranda had nothing to do with the article, something about the idea of being in the same space as her is a hot metal rod on the back of his neck.

Which is why he’s sweating and panting by the time he finds reprove from the humid morning and enters Brasstown. It’s early yet—it’s an opening shift, after all—but the August weather has been particularly sticky. Even the early mornings have been nearly unbearable, whereas June and July were full of cool, dry mornings that gave way to hot, dry afternoons.

It’s supposed to rain any day. Victor doesn’t have to check the forecast to figure that.

Victor stops dead in the middle of the room. All of the chairs are already in their rightful place at the tables. The front door had been unlocked. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that this hadn’t registered. There’s a thud from the back room.

“Hello?” Victor calls out, and almost jumps when Miranda’s head pops around the door frame.

Her eyes shoot wide when she sees him and then she disappears again.

As he treks behind the counter, Victor can hear her whispering to someone—no, to _herself_. “Okay, you can do this, you can do it, it’ll be okay.”

She’s still chanting this mantra to herself when Victor crosses the threshold into the back, at which she startles and claps a hand to her mouth.

“God, sorry,” she breathes, her shoulders tense. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to make sure I was early enough to get all of the annoying tasks out of the way for you.”

“Miranda—” Victor starts, but she cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Victor, I owe you the biggest apology in the world on behalf of my degenerate brother. What he did was vile and a disgusting transgression of your privacy, on top of being genuinely threatening and violently homophobic.”

Victor stands back as she zips through these words, which she must have practiced a million times from how perfectly they all fit together in her cadence.

“I need you to know that I don’t condone his actions in the slightest and I think he should be punished to the full extent of the law. The fact that he’ll probably get off on a misdemeanor and end up having to pay a fine and do some community service is absolute bullshit, even if he did get expelled on top of it. Also, I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me from now on, and I can request a transfer to a different location if that’s the case. Everything I said to you a while back is still true, I still think you’re incredibly brave for living your life even though there are people like Evan who could say such gruesome things behind a screen and try to color people’s perception of you.”

She stops, breathes (which she hadn’t done through most of her spiel), and steps backward slightly, her face turned downward.

Victor clears his throat. “I appreciate you saying all of that,” he starts carefully. “I…I’m still processing everything. I know there’s probably going to be some more legal stuff, so it’ll be a while before it’s all really over. Until then…I believe you. I don’t think you had anything to do with this. I won’t get into it, but I know how complicated it is when you’re related to someone who’s done something really shitty. So please don’t worry about it too much. It happened. It’s over. There was no way for you to know.”

Miranda nods, tears in her eyes. He’s unclear why she’s _this_ twisted up over something that has nothing to do with her, and they have time before open, so he decides to push a bit further.

“You _didn’t_ know anything about it, did you?”

Her eyes snap to him, shot through with panic. “Of _course_ not! There’s no way I would’ve been able to keep that to myself, especially not after meeting you and working with you!”

“Okay, I’m sorry but I just had to ask for my own sanity. You seem really messed up over it.”

Miranda nods and rubs her face, smudging her eyeliner. “Damn it. I knew I should’ve worn the waterproof today,” she mutters when she sees a black smear on the back of her hand. “People have been really horrible to Evan, which he deserves, but some of that has extended to my family, too,” Miranda explains as she grabs a paper towel and rubs at the makeup.

“Oh,” Victor says. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Miranda might get caught in the crossfire of any backlash. “I’m sorry. I had no idea that was even going on.”

“No, of course not,” she says and sniffles. “The last thing you’d want to do is involve yourself with all of the drama. It just sucks. Sometimes we can pretend that the world isn’t full of shitty people, and then it turns out your brother is the scummiest of the scum and your whole worldview shifts a little.”

Victor nods. “Look, do you want to go home for the day? Or work a later shift? It seems like you might need some time to compose yourself.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, fresh tears in her eyes.

“I’ve been opening by myself for a while now. With you and Benji both gone, Sarah and I have been covering almost everything.”

“Oh my god. _Benji_ ,” Miranda says. “How is he? I heard something happened but I never got any details.”

 _Good_ , Victor thinks. “He’s fine. Definitely struggling a little, but he’ll be okay.”

“And the two of you…No, never mind, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking about that. Are you sure you’re okay if I just come back for the second shift?”

Victor sighs and looks out into sitting area of Brasstown, reveling in its vacancy. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. You go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she says, fighting more tears. “And, again, I am so, _so_ sorry about everything.”

He places a hand on her upper back and steers her toward the door. As much as Victor appreciates how apologetic she is, part of him is just exhausted, so sick of the angst and the tears and the what-ifs. “It’s all good,” he manages to say, and then Miranda is out the door and he’s left alone in Brasstown.

The empty chairs seem to point toward him, inhabited by phantoms, memories.

Victor sucks in a deep breath, lets out an extended, guttural scream, and allows his arms to fall to his sides. He slams his eyes shut, leans against the counter, and takes three deep breaths.

* * *

Victor’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he yanks it out, ecstatic to see a message from Simon.

 **_Simon_ ** _: Hey Victor! Exciting news! Bram and I are gonna be in Shady Creek again for Labor Day weekend! We were hoping to spend some time with you before the carnival that Sunday. Will you be around? (Also, Bram says hi. He’s hanging on me like a kitten right now). Maybe we’ll finally get to meet Benji, too! (Only if that’s ok, obviously). Let me know, but whatever happens we’ll at least have the carnival! [11:43 AM]_

Victor smiles, relief rushing through him. Though it hasn’t been all that long, and he does talk to Simon via text at least a few times a week, Victor’s been missing Simon and Bram in his life. The prospect of Benji finally meeting the two of them makes Victor shiver, but mostly in a good way, he thinks. For a significant (though not extensive) period of time, the two felt like such opposite ends of a spectrum. Now it seems everything is coming together, funneling down into what could be the perfect ending to a summer that was far from it.

He slides his phone back into his pocket and looks up when he hears the door open, and another customer enters Brasstown.

* * *

Walking into Benji’s house feels like releasing a week’s worth of held breath.

They’ve stayed true to their word, have taken baby steps toward each other. Since their failed date (although Benji keeps insisting that they got to spend time together, which means it was anything but a failure), they haven’t had any time together in person. Victor’s been busy with Brasstown, and therapy and Benji told him that some relaxation might be what’s best for him, especially since his ribs are right on the peak of full recovery.

So when Benji opens the door, wearing a sleeveless tee and a pair of shorts, barefoot, smile already on his face, Victor nearly bursts into tears.

To prevent Benji from seeing this, Victor steps into Benji’s arms and hooks his chin over Benji’s shoulder.

“Whoah,” Benji says quietly, then wraps his arms around Victor’s waist.

They stay like that for a moment, Victor breathing in the novel and comforting smell of the Campbell home, the scent of Benji’s coconut shampoo.

“Victor,” Benji whispers, though he doesn’t pull away. “Can I close the door? I think a moth just flew in.”

Victor chuckles against Benji’s shoulder and bites down on his lip. Not breaking their hug, the two of them shuffle away from the open door and Benji swings it shut.

For another moment or so, Victor clings to Benji, his eyes closed. All he knows in this moment is Benji’s hands clasped behind him, the sound of his breath, of Benji’s heart beating a staccato, andante rhythm against Victor’s ribcage.

Finally, Victor lets go.

Benji stands in place and lifts a hand to smooth down Victor’s hair. “What’s going on?” His voice is hushed, though they’re the only ones there—Benji’s parents are out for the night, getting dinner and seeing a show, so they have the house to themselves for a few hours.

“It’s just…been a long week,” Victor says with a shrug.

With a nod, Benji sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. I want you to see my room.”

Victor slips his fingers through Benji’s and looks around as Benji guides him through. It’s not a large house by any means, but it’s comfortable, homey. Victor wonders for a moment why he’s never been inside, but then he’s taking in every visual stimulus he can, trying to imagine Benji’s home life as he fits the familiar image of this person into the new physical space around him.

There’s a small shelf in the hallway that leads to the stairs; on it are various framed photos, most of them from when Benji was much younger.

Victor stops and picks one up. In it, Benji is at the beach with his parents. He must be two, maybe three years old, a pair of tiny sunglasses on his face. His hair was much lighter back then, baby blond.

“Oh,” Benji says with a little smile and sidles up next to Victor. He rests his temple against Victor’s shoulder and slips one arm around his waist. “Do you recognize that beach?” he jokes.

Victor gapes. “No way! Is this at your aunt’s house?”

“Mm-hm,” Benji hums, the sound vibrating more in Victor’s body than his ears.

He stares at the photograph for another moment, the smiles on Benji’s parents’ faces, the dopey, vacant look from baby Benji. Victor sets it down, breath catching in his throat.

Benji turns his head, brows pulled together in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Victor shrugs. He wishes he knew. But a potent wave of… _something_ is washing over him. Maybe it’s the idea that there are so many stories Benji hasn’t told him, the prospect of hearing those stories, one at a time, peeling back layers of Benji’s life until he reaches the center, until they’ve been together long enough that Benji no longer has stories that Victor doesn’t know. No more stories Victor isn’t a part of.

But instead of saying all of this, Victor just rotates his body and wraps Benji in his arms again. “Nothing. I missed you. And I feel like everything I did this week, I ended up talking about you. Or thinking about you. When all I wanted to do was _see_ you.”

Benji says nothing, just rests his hands against Victor’s chest and allows Victor to hold him.

“Okay. Upstairs now,” Victor concedes once the feeling has passed, once he’s sure Benji’s isn’t going to dissolve in his arms.

Leading the way, Benji reaches back with his good hand and pulls Victor up the stairs, around a corner and into the first room on the right.

Victor pauses in the doorway. He’s seen little bits and pieces of Benji’s room via FaceTime, but seeing it altogether is a completely different feeling. It’s slightly bigger than he’d assumed, the walls painted what he thinks is a blue-ish shade of gray. It’s hard to tell in the low light; Benji has string lights scattered along his walls, all of them twinkling. His window is open and a ceiling fan swings lazily overhead, evening air filling the room with the soft scent of late summer.

Benji’s walls are mostly bare, with a few well-placed pieces of art. Victor studies each of them, recognizing the work as Benji’s own. A drawing of Brasstown. A mountainscape—which looks like it was drawn while actually sitting at the top of a mountain. Most of them are in black and white, but there’s a gorgeous color painting of a sunrise. Victor’s hand slips out of Benji’s as he crosses to room to see it up closer.

Somehow, Benji’s managed to capture the gentle movement of the ocean, the way the sun glitters off little peaks as they shuffle past each other.

Victor gasps slightly when Benji comes up behind him, rests his chin on Victor’s shoulder and curls his arms around Victor’s waist.

“You painted this?” Victor asks.

“I did,” Benji murmurs in confirmation. “I used a picture that I took during our trip, actually.”

Victor nods. “It’s…it’s really good,” he says, at a loss for words. The painting seems impossible, like Benji has invented new colors.

“It’s us,” Benji says after a pause.

Twisting his torso, Victor looks Benji in the eye. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Benji says and licks his lips, his eyes searching the room for something else to focus on. “It’s sort of corny, I guess. But a lot of the time, when I think about you, I think about that trip. And I think about sunrises, and how even when the sun goes away, it always comes back the next morning. Not a lot of people pay enough attention to sunrises. Sunsets get all the hype since nobody wants to be awake early enough to watch the sun rise. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re not like that. We see the beauty, and we care about it, and we’re willing to put in the work for it.”

Victor leans in and presses his lips to Benji’s forehead. He doesn’t say anything, because what words can follow that?

But Benji seems to understand; his eyes flutter shut and he leans into Victor’s kiss, and a warm breeze blows through the window to ruffle his hair. Clarity. A moment of absolute clarity, of worship. Victor glances out the window, at a slivered moon that shines in, blesses the moment.

“Do you still want to go back?” Benji whispers, his voice hardly audible over the sound of crickets and cicadas outside.

Victor steps back so he can look at Benji, an old promise unfurling like petals in him. A sworn oath. “You’re serious? You want to go back to Tybee?”

With a nod, Benji also takes a step back. “I said we would, right? That you would make it through all of the bullshit and that we would have a trip without so much shit hanging over our heads?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Victor says, grabbing his left elbow with his right hand. “I…yeah, Benji. I’d like that. A lot.”

Benji looks to Victor again, eyes shimmering. “Me too,” he says. “I thought there was no hope, and that the summer was gonna go by without us seeing each other again, but now…”

 _But now_. There isn’t much time, but there’s enough.

“We could do it Labor Day Weekend!” Benji says, his voice rising a bit in excitement. “That would be _perfect_. We have a whole week to convince our parents, and I know my aunt’s family never goes this late in the summer.”

Victor grimaces. _Fuck_. “Wait, Benji…”

Faltering, Benji immediately switches to disappointment. “Oh, are you…Do you have plans?”

“No! I mean, nothing set in stone,” Victor explains, “but Simon and Bram are coming down to Atlanta that weekend, and I was hoping to spend some time with them…”

Benji nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then, his face lights up and he gasps. “They can come with us!”

“What?” Victor asks with a laugh. “Are you sure?”

“This is _perfect_ , Victor, think about it! And we can invite everybody. Felix, Lake, Mia, Andrew. All of us can take one last trip together before summer’s over, make up for the time we lost!”

Victor chews his cheek. “It’s a really good idea,” he says, “but don’t you think it’s a little late notice? We only have one week.”

“That’s okay,” Benji says with a shrug. “Whoever can come can come. As long as you’re there, I’ll be happy.”

With a chuckle, Victor sits down at the edge of Benji’s bed. “I’ll see if I can convince my mom. If Simon and Bram are there, it’s sort of like having adults along, right?”

“I’m not sure she’ll go for that, but you can try,” Benji says, trotting up to the bed and throwing himself across it. He turns onto his back and props himself up against his pillows, then reaches out for Victor. “C’mere,” he whispers.

Victor pushes his shoes off—he’d meant to do that downstairs, but he’d been distracted—and crawls across the bed. He climbs next to Benji, sliding one arm beneath Benji’s body and throwing one leg over Benji’s.

Benji pushes his fingers slowly through Victor’s hair, breathing deeply through his nose. Victor wants to freeze this moment forever, to lock down time and live in this bubble for eternity. This moment of infinite possibility, of the pads of Benji’s fingers grazing his scalp, their lungs and hearts synchronized.

“We’re not very good at taking things slow, are we?” Victor whispers after several minutes of comfortable silence.

Laughing through his nose, Benji nods. “I think we’re doing a pretty good job. Even after everything, it just sort of feels like…we’re picking up where we left off, I guess.”

Acrid guilt coats Victor’s ribs. _Even after everything_. Everything he’s caused, all of the drama and the anguish. He knows Benji’s accident wasn’t his fault, but he’s never really absolved himself of that, either.

“How was your week?” Benji asks after another pause.

Victor sighs. “It was stressful. I’ve been…I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness?” he says. Benji doesn’t respond, which Victor takes as a cue to continue. “And how important it is, I guess. But also how…useless it can be, sometimes.” He frowns. “No, not useless. I don’t know what the word is. I’ve done some pretty shitty things Benji, to you and to so many other people, and I’ve left this trail of ruin behind me. But you can’t really go back and undo that, or clean up the mess. You can turn on the spot and remember where you came from, but it’s impossible to walk backward. And even though I’m trying my best not to be destructive now that I’m on the path again, I can’t help but turn around every two steps and remember the disaster I left behind.”

Benji hums and squeezes Victor, one hand around the back of his head, the other on his left side.

“People keep telling me that they forgive me, that there’s no debt that needs to be paid. Like, this week, I made it my mission to start making it up to people. Mia, Felix, Pilar, Adrian. Simon and Bram are on the list, too, and Lake, and even Andrew, maybe. And…” he pauses, gathers what courage he can. “And you’re at the top of it, Benji. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling like I have to make things right again.”

“But they’re _right_ , Victor,” Benji murmurs, his lips against Victor’s forehead. “You’re gonna run yourself down like this. If you keep tearing your own clothes apart to patch up holes, you’ll be left naked and freezing. And like I’ve told you, I _do_ forgive you. I’m just…I’m healing still, and so are you.”

And Benji _has_ told Victor this, and forgiveness has colored every one of their conversation for the past week. Since that night at the pizza shop they’ve been cautious but optimistic, texting and FaceTiming and telling each other dumb jokes and flirting, all of it underscored by an implied compassion, the desire to know each other again, these new, scarred, gorgeous versions of themselves they’ve become.

“I know, Benji. I just can’t help feeling like I’ve somehow taken advantage of everyone, or that I’ve…I don’t know, tricked them into thinking I’m a good person.”

Benji shifts so he’s sitting upright against his headboard and Victor adjusts with him, resting his head on Benji’s torso, listening to the muscle working tirelessly just beneath the surface. “You are a good person, Vic,” Benji says, his hands trailing up and down Victor’s back. “Just because you made some mistakes doesn’t make you bad.” He pauses. “I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” Victor asks, a small panic rumbling in his chest.

“Well, you keep saying all of this stuff about how you don’t feel like you’ve been forgiven, even though the people around you keep insisting that you are. So…Have you thought about who really needs to be doing the forgiving here?”

Victor frowns and sits up suddenly.

_Forgiveness, Victor, is crucial. But don’t lose track of who it is that needs to be forgiven by whom._

Benji blinks a few times, troubled by Victor’s sudden absence from his body. “What is it?”

“It’s just…someone else recently said something really similar to that. But I still don’t understand what she meant. Or what _you_ mean.”

With a sigh, Benji crosses his legs and looks Victor dead in the eye. “Victor, when are you going to forgive _yourself_?”

 _Oh_. _Oh, oh, oh_.

“Oh.”

Because this hadn’t even been a thought, hadn’t even been at the bottom of the list of Victor’s priorities. And now he remembers what he had told Angelina to prompt those words, how he’s struggled to come to terms with this person he’s become, this person who’s capable of pushing people away, of dropping them, of wounding.

Benji nods and takes Victor’s hands. “I think it says a lot about you that this is such a new concept,” Benji says with an encouraging smile. “A lot of _good_ things, just to be clear. But from everything you’ve told me about how hard it was to come to terms with your sexuality, it seems to me like the hardest thing for you to do is to look inward. You’re so used to taking care of others, making sure they’re happy, that you’re in their good graces—and not because you’re selfish, but because you love those people and don’t want them to be hurting on your account.” At this, Benji shakes his head with a little chuckle. “And all of those things are _incredible_ , Victor. But I think you’re realizing you’ll never be really happy until you’re happy with yourself. That’s one of the reasons I was so scared to try this again, you know.”

Victor nods, a bit stunned. “I…yeah, that makes sense.” It seems so simple, and yet even with a brief internal diagnostic, Victor realizes he has no idea where to start. He’s done so much worrying how his actions have affected others that he hardly took a moment to stop and think about how they’ve affected him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Benji says and pulls Victor forward, his forehead to Benji’s chest again. “It’s not an overnight process, either. Just know that I’m doing it along with you,” Benji says and lifts Victor’s chin so they’re eye to eye. “I’ve been doing it for a long time now, ever since the first accident, maybe even before then. Sometimes the hardest forgiveness to earn can be your own, and that’s okay.” He dips his chin down, brows lifted. “Just promise me you’ll try. That’s all we can ask of ourselves.”

Victor presses the back of his hand to his eye to prevent a tear from slipping out. He’s had just about enough crying for the summer, maybe even a whole year. “Okay,” he says, ducking his head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Benji says. Victor isn’t actually looking at him, but he can _hear_ the soft smile in Benji’s tone. “I have something that might make you feel better,” he says, the smile suddenly betrayed by nerves.

Snapping his head up, Victor eyes Benji with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Um. I can’t tell you, I just have to…show you. Can you turn around?”

Victor looks back and forth, panicking slightly, but nods. He rotates so he’s facing Benji’s wall, the one with the sun rise painting, his pulse thick in his neck, in his fingers.

Benji’s weight leaves the bed and Victor closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. Why is he so nervous?

The weight returns.

“No peeking,” Benji says. “Just—just stay turned around until it’s over.”

“Until _what’s_ over?” Victor asks, but Benji shushes him.

And then he starts to play his guitar.

It’s a slow, somber melody, not strummed but plucked in a beautiful pattern. Victor’s breath catches in his throat and he can hear Benji in the notes, hear himself, the _two_ of them, their history somehow captured in the chords.

His heart falters when Benji begins to sing.

 _The sunlight bends to you, love  
_ _How I wish I always could  
_ _But rainclouds are movin’ in, love  
_ _And I think this storm is here for good_

Victor holds perfectly still, his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried between them.

 _It’s been weeks since we spoke  
_ _But it feels like a year  
_ _And my body’s been broke  
_ _Take the screw from the shears  
_ _Drive the blades into the ground just to give us a grip_

There’s a pause for a slight musical flourish, and then Benji slips in the chorus. His voice is a bit raspy, thick with emotion, and it takes everything in Victor not to break down altogether.

 _The sight of your face still pains me  
_ _But I can’t get you out of my head  
_ _So I’ll lie here and hope I can change me  
_ _And wrap your arms around me ’til then  
_ _We’re both spinning out, we’re both hanging on  
_ _Alone we’re alright but together we’re strong  
_ _And broken as we are, I hope you stay  
_ _Please, please don’t go away_

And Victor isn’t going anywhere, never wants to go anywhere again if Benji isn’t there, never wants to go where Benji can’t follow.

 _If all roads lead to you, love  
_ _I said I’d drive down every one  
_ _But I took my hands off the wheel, love  
_ _To shield my eyes from the sun  
_ _It’s been days since we spoke  
_ _But it feels like a year  
_ _And life feels like a joke  
_ _When I know you should be here  
_ _You should be here_

He can’t fight the tears now, Benji’s voice coaxing them gently from his eyes. They flow over his knees, down his shins, as Benji repeats the chorus.

 _The sight of your face it pains me  
_ _But I can’t get you out of my head  
_ _So I’ll lie here and hope I can change me  
_ _And wrap your arms around me ’til then  
_ _We’re both spinning out, we’re both hanging on  
_ _Alone we’re alright but together we’re strong  
_ _And broken as we are, I hope you stay  
_ _Please, please don’t go away_

There’s another break, during which Benji picks adeptly at the strings, a new kind of hope in the chord progression. It’s their story, Victor knows, and this part of the song has arrived in the present, this moment, sitting in Benji’s room, the past swollen and bruised but like a cushion beneath them.

 _Hearts on the mend, eyes to the sky  
_ _Committing this crime with no alibi  
_ _But nobody’s seen my heart like you  
_ _And after what we’ve both been through_

The room goes quiet for a second. Benji takes in a deep breath; as he sings the final chorus, Victor can tell he’s crying.

 _The sight of your face still pains me  
_ _But I can’t get you out of my head  
_ _So I’ll lie here and hope I can change me  
_ _And wrap your arms around me ’til then  
_ _We’re both spinning out, we’re both hanging on  
_ _Alone we’re alright but together we’re strong_  
_And broken as we are, I hope you stay  
_ _Please, please don’t go away_

Stillness. A car honks somewhere in the distance. Wind rustles the leaves, summer breeze still tickling Victor’s forehead, the one strip of his face still visible.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say to you everything I needed to say. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was too complicated to be spoken. And that…even in our shortcomings, and our pain, there was always a beauty,” Benji says, his voice breaking on the last word. “I’m sorry I made you face the other way for the whole thing, I was…I was really nervous.”

Victor laughs, a watery, labored laugh, muffled by his own knees. He’s no stranger to that strategy. “Am I allowed to turn around now?” he asks.

Benji clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Taking a breath to ground himself, Victor peels his face away from his knees and turns. Benji’s in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, guitar resting in his lap. His eyes are red, almost as red as his cheeks, and he’s forcing himself to smile, though tears leak from the corners of his eyes.

Victor shuffles forward on his knees. He grasps the guitar, sets it aside.

Then Victor grabs Benji’s face. And he kisses him.

This is the first time they’ve kissed since before everything fell apart, the first time in too much time that Victor’s lips have fit so perfectly with Benji’s the way they always have, the way he prays they always will. The summer night ministers a triumphant, jubilant orchestration, the chirping of insects hitting a gorgeous crescendo, tires on the street like a whoosh of rising percussion, the knocking together of tree branches cheering, thunderous applause.

Victor pulls away, one hand still in Benji’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he says, though Benji had kissed him back.

“I’m not,” Benji says, and he kisses Victor again, and again, and his lips taste like music, like song, and Victor’s heart sings a love hymn as Benji kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how are we feeling?? I love to hear from y'all, please leave kudos or a comment if you're so inclined!! <3
> 
> Hopefully it won't be too long until the next update. We're starting to get close to the end AHHHHH!!!!


	18. Paroxysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PAROXYSM; _n_. — a sudden attack or violent expression of a particular emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IT'S ME AGAIN!! It's been a month since I updated so take this obscenely long chapter oops. I will eventually be revising this story and potentially splitting into more manageable chunks, we will see!
> 
> (TW in this chapter for some homophobia, discussion of ED, and also panic attacks)

Victor sits in his room, phone in his hands and foot tapping the floor, an agitated driver pumping the brakes.

He’s waiting on a text from Benji, a confirmation that Mia has picked him up and that they’re on the way, as well as the notice of Simon’s arrival.

It had taken a lot of convincing, but after some begging and an embarrassing but ultimately hilarious phone call between Simon and his mother, Victor has convinced her that the Tybee Island trip would be fine. He has no idea how Benji convinced _his_ parents, especially since Benji’s arm has only recently be freed from its bandage-y prison and his ribs are only almost all of the way better. Regardless, Victor’s mother had also spoken to Benji’s, and after a tense few minutes they seemed to come to an agreement, and then…hit it off? At that point Victor had left the room because he wasn’t ready to hear what his mother was going to say about him to Benji’s.

So now it’s the crack of dawn, Friday morning, and Victor has a small bag packed and an eagerness that’s just about boring through the front of his skull, ready to drop right into his hands.

By some absolute miracle, the entire crew had been available and interested. Four young couples, one beach house during Labor Day Weekend, and a whole summer of drama to recover from.

Victor hasn’t felt this excited about anything since—well, since the beginning of his relationship with Benji.

They’re bookending their summer perfectly, returning to the place where everything had really begun, where a label was wrapped gently around both of their wrists. And though the thin paper has been torn down the center, they’re at the point where they’re holding hands again, the tears lining up perfectly. You can tell that the bond has been broken, but it’s only apparent because it’s been brought together again.

 **_Benji_ ** _: hi! Mia just picked me up, Lake and Andrew are already here so we’re gonna head over. that good? [6:23 AM]_

Victor grins down at his phone and confirms with Benji, then reaches over his bed and grabs his walkie talkie.

 _Krrt_! “Victor to Felix, over,” Victor whispers.

He pauses and waits for a response, part of him afraid that Felix has overslept, but then his walkie springs to life in his hands.

“Felix…to Victor,” Felix says, yawning after his first word. “Reporting for duty,” he drawls. “Oh—over.”

Victor giggles; Felix’s brain is clearly still waking up. “Meet in the hallway in five? Over.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Felix says, yawning again. “Over and out.”

He sets the walkie down carefully—they’re still using the classic set, so he’s been trying to treat his with care. Victor stands and pulls his bag over his shoulder, grinning again when his phone buzzes.

 **_Simon_ ** _: hey Vic! We’re parked outside on the street, hope that’s cool :) [6:25 AM]_

 **_Victor_ ** _: yeah, that’s perfect. Felix and I will be out in a couple min, and Mia is on the way with the others! [6:25 AM]_

Victor slides his phone back into his pockets and tiptoes out of his room, taking extra care not to wake anybody. He knows his family well; if anybody is awake before nine a.m. during the summer, _somebody_ pays the price.

This is why he almost cries out when he approaches the front door and his mother looks up at him from the couch. She’s wearing a robe and has a cup of coffee in one hand and a magazine in the other.

“Jesus, _Mami_ , you scared me,” he breathes, clutching at his chest.

She grins and folds the magazine closed. “Good morning, _mijo_. Excited? I made you a quick breakfast, come,” she says and rises, gesturing to her left.

Victor looks between her and the door, then back to her. With a sigh, he hastens to the dining table, where there’s a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, still steaming slightly in the growing light.

“I’m confused,” Victor says as he sits down. He eyes the plate suspiciously. “This isn’t some kind of test, is it? You’re not trying to poison me so I can’t go?”

She rolls her eyes and sits down across from him. “Can’t a mother make her son breakfast before he goes on a trip?”

“I mean, she _can_ , but she normally _wouldn’t_ —”

She leans forward and swats at his arm with the magazine. “Hey! Some gratitude, please!”

Victor grins at her and rubs the spot on his arm where the rolled paper had made contact. “Thank you, _Mami_ ,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” she says. She sits back, satisfied. “So, I was talking to Mrs. Campbell about the house.”

Victor narrows his eyes as he scoops eggs into his mouth. _Where is she going with this_?

“She told me there are only four beds.”

 _Oh. Oh no, this conversation is_ not _happening._

Victor swallows his bite of eggs with a small amount of difficulty. “Oh, are there?”

His mother crosses her arms, one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. “I love you, Victor, but you are a _terrible_ liar,” she says, hint of a smile poking through. “Were you just planning to leave that detail out?”

“Mom, it’s not like that,” Victor says, suddenly sweating. “There are air mattresses, and one of the couches is a pullout.” The plan actually _is_ for Victor and Felix to sleep downstairs on air mattresses, for Andrew to take the couch, and then for Benji, Lake, Mia, and Simon and Bram to take the rooms. Especially for Victor, he’s not quite sure he’s ready to be so close to Benji. Both of the recent times they’ve woken up beside each other have been rife with complication, and he would rather not worry about expectations or potential outcome.

“Mm,” she says with a nod. “Well, I’m not going to tell you that you can’t go, because I know your friends will never forgive me.”

“I can still go?”

She points at him. “Yes, but only if you promise that…” she sighs. “Promise me that _whatever_ happens, you will be safe, and smart—”

“Oh, god, _Mom_ ,” Victor says and slaps his hands over his face. “I promise, okay? Benji and I…we aren’t even _close_ to thinking about that yet. I swear.”

She slowly recrosses her arms and sits back. “All right,” she says. “One of these days we’re going to have to have another talk, you know.”

Victor’s appetite has never been farther from him. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious, Victor,” she says. She does in fact sound serious. “The last time we had _that_ talk, the context was a bit different, no?”

This is true. When he’d started dating Mia, his mother sat him down and explained some things to him, told him how to practice safety during “physical intimacy,” as she’d called it. Looking back, the amount of discomfort in that conversation had _not_ been equivalent to the actual discomfort of the subject matter. But the idea of having sex with Mia always did make him squirm, and not in the same way the idea of sex with Benji does.

He blushes, the idea of having sex with Benji suddenly intruding, pushing his train of thought onto another track.

“Someday you’ll look back and appreciate it, I think,” she says with a smirk. “I don’t want to stop you from being who you are, Victor, so I have to do what any mom would do if her son were straight. And that means I’ve had to do some…research—”

“Not _research_ —”

“—and just knowing Benji is older than you are—”

“Only by a year!”

She sighs. “Still. It’s an important conversation, and we _will_ have it sooner rather than later. But there’s no time now, so please finish your breakfast so you can go have fun.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says, pouting.

His mother pushes the plate toward him with an exasperated smile. “Eat,” she insists, then stands and crosses into the kitchen. “Not hungry my ass,” she mutters as she turns on the sink and starts to wash the pan she’d used for the eggs.

With a stifled laugh, Victor manages to wolf down the rest of his eggs and a piece of toast, grateful for the sustenance. It’s a long drive and he’s sure Felix has brought snacks, but it’s always important to get a healthy start.

His phone vibrates.

 **_Felix_ ** _: where r u? lonely empty hallway :( [6:31]_

 _Shit_. At least Mia’s not here yet, so they’re not waiting on just him.

Victor rises and wipes his mouth, then throws his napkin onto the plate and brings it into the kitchen. “ _Mami_ , I gotta go,” he says.

She turns to him, right hand on her hip. “Okay. Just remember what I said. _And_ remember our condition.”

“If I don’t answer texts within fifteen minutes, I’m grounded until I’m gray, I know!” he says with a laugh, then leans down and kisses his mother on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome, my love,” she says and rubs a hand up and down his arm. “All right, don’t let me keep you. Have fun! Tell everyone I say hello—Benji especially!” she calls after him as he heads for the door.

Victor tucks his head down to hide his rosy cheeks as he stoops to pick his bag off the floor next to the door. “I will. Love you!”

On the other side of the door, Felix is draped over the railing, pretending to be asleep. When Victor closes the door behind him, he “wakes up” with a start and a strange snorting noise, which procures a solid laugh from Victor.

“You ready?” Felix asks. Victor already knows what his answer would be to that question; Felix is wearing a teal and gray striped tank top, sunglasses perched up in his hair and a smear of sunblock still stark white on his nose. He has a duffel bag in one hand and a beach ball tucked under the other.

“A beach ball? Really? And why did you already put sunscreen on?” Victor asks as they head down the stairs.

Felix scoffs. “My friend, you can _never_ be too prepared. Plus, when you’re this pale, even sitting in a car for a couple of hours on a beautiful day like this can lead to sunburn.”

“Fair enough,” Victor concedes. He opens the door, the light outside still emerging from dawn, soft and bright and warm. He smiles; Simon and Bram are standing outside their car, waving to him. He waves back as Felix closes the door and follows.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Felix says quietly, “I’m kinda nervous to meet them.”

Victor frowns at him. “No, don’t be. They’re really cool, I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” Felix says under his breath, adjusting the grip on his beach ball.

Halfway down the walk, another car pulls up to the car. Bass thumps inside and Victor can see Benji and Andrew both head banging to something while Mia laughs and Lake rolls her eyes, arms crossed. When the car stops, Benji looks out the window and catches Victor’s eye. He smiles a little self-consciously, then winks as the music dies suddenly.

Victor decides to greet Simon and Bram while the rest of his friends organize themselves, his palms sweating a little at the idea of everybody coming together like this. After all, Simon and Bram haven’t met any of them yet.

“Hey, Vic!” Simon chirps as Victor approaches. He wraps him in a quick hug. “How are things?” he asks more quietly.

Victor beams at him. “Pretty good, actually. Better than they’ve been in a long time.”

There’s a pause. Simon inhales a sharp breath, then hugs Victor again. “Good. I’m so glad to hear that.”

When he pulls away, Bram rolls his eyes affectionately and steps forward. He kisses Victor on the cheek and embraces him. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s just really happy to be here.”

“It’s all good,” Victor says. When he turns around, his friends are gathered in a sort of semicircle, looking at them with something between caution and excitement.

Victor clears his throat. “So, everyone, this is Simon and Bram! I think you’ve probably all heard about them a little. Their story is pretty big at Creekwood.”

“Um, understatement,” Lake says. “Legendary is more like it.”

“Iconic, even,” Mia supplies with a little glance at Victor.

Simon laughs, raising his hands in humility. “It’s really not as incredible as all of the accounts make it sound.”

Over his shoulder, Bram is shaking his head and mouthing “liar, he’s a liar,” which causes everyone to laugh and Simon to blush.

“I guess we should all introduce ourselves,” Simon says. He and Bram step toward the rest of the group.

Meanwhile, Benji’s broken off from everyone and comes up next to Victor. His left arm is free from its cast and the scar on his forehead is nothing more than a faint line; the doctors had done an incredible job with the stitching. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” Victor says. Benji kisses his cheek and throws his arms around Victor’s waist, beneath his backpack. Victor chuckles through his nose and returns the gesture. They linger like this for a moment. It’s been several days since they saw each other, and even in the excitement of this occasion Victor is glad to have a little moment just to have Benji in his arms. “My mom says hi, too,” he adds.

Benji grins and pulls away. He doesn’t say anything else, just slips his left hand into Victor’s right as they stand by and watch Simon and Bram make their way through the ranks.

The sensation is odd, watching these two groups come together. It’s like two flashlight beams have finally lined up exactly, two shadows of the same world intersecting, their edges and shapes perfectly clear.

Simon gives Felix a pat on the back, then turns to where Victor and Benji are standing part from everyone. He grins at Victor as he strolls over. Benji’s grip on Victor’s hand tightens slightly. He squeezes Benji’s hand back and gives him a little smile, grateful to have him as an anchor in all of this excitement, grateful to be an anchor himself.

“Hey,” Simon says, a little awkwardly. “It’s so great to meet you, Benji.” He sticks out a hand, which Benji shakes.

“You too,” Benji says. “I’ve heard so much.”

Simon laughs. “Yeah, me too. It’s been quite the summer, huh?”

“You could say that,” Benji says.

“But we’re here now,” Victor adds. “I sort of have the two of you to thank for that.”

With a shake of his head, Simon smiles. “Maybe a little. Give yourself some credit, though.”

“Right?” Benji says. “I keep telling him—”

“Okay!” Victor cuts in. “Okay, I also had something to do with it. Healing and self-realization and all of that.”

“Yeah, no big deal,” Benji teases, bumping Victor with his hip.

Simon turns back toward the rest of the group, still gathered beside Mia’s car. Bram is telling some story, talking with his hands. Felix is nearly in tears and Mia is leaning against Andrew for support as she laughs. The sight is bizarre to Victor, everybody together, everybody so happy. It’s a ‘too good to be true’ moment, but when Benji reaches over and brushes a strand of hair away from Victor’s forehead it grounds him, makes him feel so in his body that it forces him to confront that sometimes reality can taste just as sweet as the best of dreams.

“I think I’m having a proud boyfriend moment _and_ a proud dad moment,” Simon says, looking back and forth between Bram and the two of them. He passes a hand through his hair. “Oh, speaking of dad moments, we should probably talk logistics. I was thinking the two of you would come with me and Bram, if that’s okay?”

Victor looks to Benji, who gives him a little shrug and a nod.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Victor says. “We need the perfect music though, so the pressure’s on for Bram.”

“Was that my name I heard?” Bram sings as he comes up behind Simon and slips his arms around his shoulders. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Victor was just asking about your DJ skills.”

Bram huffs. “Um, you’re going to wonder why you even asked,” he says. “Not only do I have an incredible summer road trip playlist, but I’m also willing to interrupt it for requests. It doesn’t get better than this. _OH_ , I’m Bram, by the way.” Still hanging on Simon’s shoulder, he reaches out to Benji.

“Great to meet you,” Benji says as he takes Bram’s hand.

With an enormous smile, Bram rests his chin on Simon’s shoulder. “Babe, they’re like a younger version of us, aren’t they?”

Simon lifts a hand to cup Bram’s cheek. “Sort of. They’re a more attractive couple though.”

“Lies,” Bram says cheerfully. “We’re all hot and that’s that on that.”

“Benji was voted second hottest guy at Creekwood,” Victor blurts. At this, Benji chuckles and buries his head in Victor’s shoulder.

“Oh, so Creekwood kids suddenly have _taste_!” Bram says. He gives Victor a little wink before detaching from Simon.

“Sorry,” Victor murmurs to Benji with a little giggle. “But they _did_!”

“Yeah, they did.”

Victor turns back to Simon. “I’ll just check with the others and we can get going!”

“Sounds good. There’s no rush, but I know Bram and I are both eager to hit the beach.”

Pressing a kiss to Benji’s cheek—just because he can—Victor lets go of his hand and makes his way over to the rest of his friends.

“Dude, Bram is _hilarious_ ,” Felix says as Victor approaches.

With a look over his shoulder, Victor sees that Benji and Bram are now engaged in an animated conversation. His heart swells, just a little, the strongest wave at low tide.

“Really, Victor, they both seem great,” Mia says. Her fingers are tangled with Andrew’s, who gives Victor a half smile. “I think this is gonna be a really incredible weekend.”

“I hope so,” Victor says. The sky is almost unnaturally blue, pure clouds floating by, guiding the way toward bliss. “Are y’all almost ready to go? Benji and I are gonna ride with Simon and Bram.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Mia says.

“And you’re still sure that you can do the drive?”

She shrugs. “It’s only four hours. Worst comes to worst we can stop and switch drivers. Right, Andrew?” she asks, looking up at him.

He smiles down at her. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Perfect! Then we’re good to go,” she says back to Victor.

“Hey, I was actually wondering if we could talk for a second,” Andrew says, nodding at Victor.

“Oh. Um, yeah, sure,” he says, his pulse picking up slightly. “Just, uh, over there I guess?” He points back toward the apartment building.

Andrew nods and pulls away from Mia, following Victor toward the steps. They both stop at the same time, Victor looking back toward Benji and then to Andrew. “So.”

“I just wanted to clear the air about everything,” Andrew says. Victor is surprised that he sounds so genuine. “I feel like this past semester we didn’t start on such a great note. Which was mostly my fault. Or, entirely, I guess.” He chuckles and looks over his shoulder. “It was actually Felix who helped me realize what a dick I was to everybody, and then being with Mia…I guess I just wanted to apologize to you specifically.”

“Oh,” Victor says. “I mean, yeah. Apology accepted. To be honest, I haven’t thought about it a whole lot.”

“I figured. I know you’ve had sort of a crazy summer,” Andrew says with a little chuckle. “Another thing I wanted to say is that I really want to support you through all of this. Like, when school starts up again if anybody on the team gives you shit, I won’t hesitate to wreck them. I mean, not that you can’t handle yourself, but…” He sighs and scratches at his shoulder. “I think you know what I’m trying to say.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, his lips tugging up into a smile. “Thanks, Andrew, that means a lot.”

Andrew shrugs. “Of course, man. I know that you and Mia are getting close again, and I don’t want there to be tension between us. Maybe we could even…”

“Be friends?” Victor finishes.

“Yeah, I think I’d like to try that,” Andrew says, grinning.

Victor thinks back to Spring Fling, to the opportunity Andrew had to tell Mia about what he heard, how he could’ve told _anybody_. And sure, maybe the bar is a bit low there and not outing Victor is bare minimum for morality, but he still met that standard. Plus, he’s apologizing now.

Victor sticks out his hand, which Andrew shakes, then pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks again,” Victor says and they join the rest of the crew.

Mia gives Victor a questioning look as they approach, but he just gives her a shrug and a smile.

“Are we ready, gang?” Felix asks and throws one arm each around Mia’s and Lake’s shoulders. “I’ve been waiting for something like this basically all summer.”

Lake removes his arm from her shoulder and kisses him on the cheek. She pulls away, making a sour face. “You taste like sunblock.”

“I taste like _safety_ ,” Felix corrects, which sends a ripple of laughter around.

They all head to their respective vehicles; Benji opens the door for Victor and then slides in beside him, a dopey smile on his face.

“What?” Victor asks.

Benji leans over and kisses him quickly. “Nothing. I just can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

These words come to life in Victor’s ears just as the car animates around them, the engine roaring to a start and air conditioning kicking up. Victor cups Benji’s face and kisses him once more. “Me either.”

“What do we think, y’all?” Bram asks. “AC or windows down?”

“Windows down for sure,” Benji says.

Victor stifles a laugh. “Benji likes to stick his head out the window like a puppy.”

“And so what if I do?” he asks, feigning offense as Simon pulls the car away from the curb.

And like that, they’re off, a sky stitched of the finest blue silk the only thing between them and their destination. Whiskey Sunsets by Moon Taxi blasts from the speakers, the song exploding into a glittering summery intro as the car gains speed and the wind starts pulling at Victor’s hair. It’s been some time since he got a haircut.

He looks to his left and notices how long Benji’s has gotten as well. As Bram and Simon sing along to the song, he reaches over and runs a hand through it.

Benji smiles at him, a little self-conscious. “I know, it’s really long,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to get it cut, but…”

“No, I like it,” Victor says, making another pass with his fingers as the breeze blows the lock around his hand. “I think it suits you. I mean, do what makes you happy, obviously.”

And then Benji pulls his lips to the side and dips his chin, looking at Victor through his lashes and tucking hair behind his ear.

Victor’s jaw drops with a peal of shocked laughter “Did—did you just _Debby Ryan_ me?”

Benji throws his head back against his headrest, raucous laughter carried away by the wind. Victor laughs along, summer air whipping by.

The first hour passes quickly and without much talking, the four of them electing instead to sing along to the music, absorb the summery vibes, take it all in and tuck it away in a safe place. Victor knows even now that there will be times in the winter—or whenever, truthfully—when he thinks back to this trip. It hasn’t even really begun yet but he can feel how much hope everybody has, the buzz of new people, new dynamics, everybody getting to know each other in different ways. Even if it’s not everything he hopes it will be, it’ll be _something_.

And Benji will be there. As far as Victor’s concerned, everything else is just extra, it’s fluff. It could be him and Benji and an empty room with white walls, and he’s sure he would hold onto that memory tighter than most of his memories from this summer.

At some point, Victor must fall asleep. He’d woken up much earlier than his usual after all, and the lull of car tires human against the highway has always been something of a lullaby to him.

Victor wakes with a start, leaning across the backseat, his head on Benji’s shoulder. From the front seat Simon mutters “Fuck,” and pulls the car over to the side of the road, throwing on his hazards.

“What happened?” Victor asks, still groggy. He rubs at his eyes and Benji squeezes his shoulder.

“Just a flat tire,” he says.

Bram sighs and slaps his legs. “Good thing we have a spare!”

“But do we know how to change a tire?” Victor asks.

Simon turns around in his seat and gives him a smile. “I’m all over it. My dad pretty much forced me to learn how, for situations just like this one.”

Victor nods and he’s hit with a pang of odd sadness. The mention of Simon’s dad sends him into rapids of hypotheticals, knocked this way and that by questions. Why hadn’t his father ever taught him to change a tire? Would he ever? Does Victor even want that?

“Hey,” Benji murmurs, taking Victor’s hand. “Where’d you go?”

Victor shakes his head, scattering the thoughts into the wind, out through the open windows. “I think my brain is still waking up or something.”

“This is probably gonna take a little while, if you guys want to go take a walk and stretch your legs,” Simon says as he pushes his way out the driver’s side door.

Benji glances sideways as a car whizzes by, and another, then back to Victor. “What do you think?”

To their right is a dense forest, lush and green, the trees dancing in sync with the wind.

“I guess I could use a little walk,” Victor says as a yawn takes over his lips. He stretches his arms, grinning as he accidentally pushes one into Benji’s face. Benji bats it away like a curious cat. “How long was I out?”

Benji looks down at his phone. “Mm, almost two hours I think.”

“Seriously?”

Bram twists around in the passenger’s seat. “Yeah, and you were _out_ out. We still had the volume up all the way and everything. Even had a conversation about you,” Bram says with a wink in Benji’s direction. He steps out to join Simon behind them at the open trunk.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Victor says with a pout, but Benji just pats his cheek.

“It was nothing bad, I promise. Come on, we’ll go out your side,” he says, already scooching in that direction.

Victor doesn’t move, giggling to himself as Benji bumps into him. He tackles him into a hug, pinning him down across the backseat. Benji laughs along and tries to fight him. “What are you doing?” he asks when he has the opportunity to breathe.

As he sits up, Victor lets out a content sigh. “I don’t know. Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real that you’re sitting next to me.”

“So you have to touch me to make sure I’m really here?”

“I guess. And I just like hugging you.”

Benji’s cheeks flash pink and gives Victor a little shove toward the door. “There’s more where that came from, Romeo.”

Victor opens the door, stepping out and stretching his arms high above his head. He stands there for a moment, hair rustled by the wind, until Benji pokes him in the butt.

“I can’t get out if you’re just standing there,” he grumbles.

He takes another step away from the car and looks to his right, where Mia and Andrew seem to be having an argument of some kind as they watch Simon and Bram procure the tire from Simon’s trunk. In the backseat, Felix and Lake both have their hands over their eyes, clearly whispering to each other about the fight Mia and Andrew are having.

Victor chuckles as Benji grasps his upper arm to pull him up and out of the vehicle. He stretches, too, and winces when he straightens his arms and his elbows pop.

“That didn’t sound too good,” Victor says.

Benji shrugs. “My body has been doing weird shit since, uh, you know. Something like that tends to cause some changes. I think it’s pretty common.”

“Oh. But you’re…you’re okay to _be_ in a car, right?” Victor says. He hasn’t detected any kind of anxiety from Benji thus far, but if this summer has taught him anything it’s that Benji is better at hiding these things than he suspected.

Benji nods. “Yeah, as long as I’m not behind the wheel I’m fine.” He reaches out and Victor takes his hand. The two of them walk up to the edge of the woods, exchange a cautious glance, then step beyond the treeline.

* * *

Back in the car, Victor and Benji have come to the silent agreement to never speak about what happened in the woods. Though, as Simon starts the car, Victor is already having a hard time recalling details. It seems Benji is experiencing something similar due to the confused crunch of his features.

And then they’re back on the road, no worse for wear and only about twenty minutes behind schedule. Victor and Benji, though a bit shaken, are both nibbling on pretzel bites from a large bucket that Bram had supplied for the ride. Having something to occupy his motor functions grounds Victor. This, and Benji’s fingers lain carefully on top of his between them.

As it turns out, Bram’s summer road trip playlist is full of absolute bangers, as he would put it. Lots of music Victor’s never heard but will inevitably associate with this trip, with Benji.

When Supercut by Lorde comes on, Victor tears up a little. He blames it on the wind when Benji pokes him in the side to ask if he’s all right, but of course he’s remembering their first trip to Tybee Island together. Looking back, those versions of them feel like completely different people, and though Victor enjoyed the song the first time he heard it, the lyrics suddenly seem like they were written just for them.

Even despite all of the turmoil, when Victor looks back all he can seem to remember are the good moments, complicated as some of them were. Benji following him into the water and asking Victor to be his boyfriend, getting breakfast together the next day. The times Victor would sneak away from home, get in Benji’s car and just let Benji drive him around, music blaring and teen angst running a hot current through his veins. Sleeping up next to Benji in the hospital, finally speaking after all of the time they’d spent apart. In retrospect, it had only been the larger part of a summer, though somehow Victor has mapped an eternity onto that time.

“ _In my head I do everything right, when you call I forgive and not figh_ t,” Benji sings to Victor, his eyes squeezed shut as he revels in the lyrics. “ _Because ours are the moments I play in the dark, we were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart_.”

Victor blinks away tears as Benji belts this out, screaming against the wind, his voice some kind of guiding star in the choppy waters of chaos that so often take Victor over.

And he thinks, in this moment, that if this is even a fraction of what being in love feels like, he’s willing to shatter his heart over and over, pick up the pieces and start again. As many times as it takes.

* * *

“ _Whoah_ ,” Felix says as he steps out of the car, looking up at the house. “This is sick!”

Benji laughs and shuts his door behind him. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. We used to spend a lot more time here when I was younger, but…”

As Victor collects his bag, he remembers the first time he’d seen the house himself. All of the optimism they’d managed to pack into that day.

“Drive was good for everyone?” Simon says. He’s standing just outside the driver’s seat, hands on top of his car.

Mia sighs. “Not horrible. The break in the middle was good. Sorry about your tire, though.”

“No big deal,” Simon says with a shrug. “This one should hold until we get back to Atlanta.”

Bram grimaces. “I’m not sure about that.”

“It’s an actual spare, not a donut,” Simon argues.

“He just doesn’t want to spoil the vacation,” Bram whispers to Victor as he passes.

Quickly, Victor texts his mother to let her know they’ve arrived safely, already afraid of the wrath that awaits him if he neglects to keep her updated.

In front of him, Benji reaches back his hand and pulls Victor up to the door, punching a code into the keypad and pushing it open. A blast of cold, dry air greets them. The air outside is muggy, the aroma of salty waves blowing up off the water. Victor allows Benji to pull him inside, all six of their friends following closely behind.

“Ooh, very sandy chic,” Lake says and does a spin.

“Yeah, so here it is,” Benji says, gesturing around him with his free hand. “I guess we should decide on bedrooms before anything? We can worry about getting the mattresses and couch set up later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Simon says as he pulls the door closed, sealing them all into the air conditioning. “Remind me again how we’re doing this?”

“Right. You and Bram will take one of the rooms, Mia and Lake will each get one of the slightly smaller ones, and I’ll take one too. We have two blow-up mattresses and a pullout bed. Vic, Felix, and Andrew: you three will have to fight for those.”

Andrew smirks. “Yeah, I’ll take one of the blow-ups,” he says, giving Mia a conspiratorial look. She returns a sobering glare and his smile fades.

“Look, I don’t care what you _actually_ end up doing,” Benji says, chuckling. “It was all sort of a front anyway, wasn’t it?”

Victor looks to Felix, who glances quickly at Lake and then shrugs.

“Anyway, I’ll take the first bedroom if that’s okay,” Benji says. There’s no opposition to this. “Perfect. Y’all can go explore and everything.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Simon says, stepping forward. “Bram and I are actually gonna run to the grocery store as soon as we get situated. We never really talked about food, and I figure it’ll be more cost-effective not to order food for everything. We’ll get stuff for sandwiches and snacks and all of that for lunch, and probably grab some ingredients for a nice dinner as well.”

“Good idea,” Victor says. “We’ll help pay for everything obviously.”

Simon nods and shoulders his bag, then he and Bram head upstairs.

Victor grabs Benji’s shoulder and pulls him aside. “So, about the sleeping arrangements…”

“Oh,” Benji says, brows raised in slight alarm. “It’s okay that you’ll be down here, right?”

“Oh,” he echoes. “Yeah, that’s—I mean, I was gonna make sure you knew that I was…I don’t know if I’m ready to sleep in the same bed again is what I’m trying to say. I know what we told our parents was partially just to get them to relax, but. Yeah.”

Benji smiles softly and reaches up, runs a thumb over Victor’s cheek. “Of course, Victor. We’re taking things slow, right? And, just so you know, I didn’t have any kind of expectations. If you change your mind I’d be okay with that, too. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay, cool,” Victor says, raising a hand to meet Benji’s. “We’ll have plenty of time together anyway.”

“Exactly. No pressure. This is supposed to be a trip to sort of…”

“Fix things?”

Benji frowns a bit. “No, not quite. The first trip was really good, remember? But we get to do it again now that things are different. I think in some ways it’ll be even better.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, lips pulling into a wide smile. “Me, too.”

“So, we’re, like, going to the beach immediately, right?” Lake calls from upstairs. “I’d like not to waste any tanning time.”

Victor and Benji both laugh and lean forward, their foreheads pressing together.

“Yeah, feel free to head down whenever you want,” Benji shouts over his shoulder. “I’ll bring an umbrella with me so until then it’s just you and the sun.”

“Kay!” she sings back and then they’re alone again. Victor hadn’t even noticed everybody go upstairs, but Andrew must be in Mia’s room with her, and Felix in Lake’s.

“Come upstairs with me?” Benji murmurs, holding out his hand again. Victor takes it and they practically jog up the stairs, nearly stumbling into the first room. It’s the same room Victor had slept in with Benji before.

Benji closes the door behind them and drops his bag onto the floor with a sigh. Victor allows his to fall to the floor and makes to brush past Benji and go out onto the balcony, but before he knows what’s happening Benji’s hand is around his upper arm and he’s being pulled down onto the bed. He looks up at Benji, who has him pinned, grinning like crazy.

“Uh, hi,” Victor says and suppresses a giggle.

Benji smiles wider. “Hi. Can I kiss you?”

“Of course,” Victor says, and even though his mouth has gone a little dry he almost sinks down into the mattress as Benji leans down and slides his lips between Victor’s. This is the first moment of real privacy they’ve had in a long time; even alone in Benji’s bedroom there was a sense of urgency, of wondering if his parents might return at any moment. But here it’s just them, all of their friends off on their own, probably sharing moments just like this one.

Benji deepens the kiss and lowers his body so he’s flush with Victor’s. It’s a welcome weight and Victor kisses Benji like they don’t have any time left, or like they have all the time in the world. Breaths come hot and sharp through their noses, too caught in the moment to separate their lips.

Eventually, Victor grabs Benji’s shoulders and flips him over so Victor is above now. He pulls away and grins. Benji’s cheeks are flushed pink, his hair splayed out above him, soft aureole of locks. It’s in this moment Victor falters, feels Benji’s wrists beneath his, bony.

Maybe it’s because all he can think about is the last time they were on Tybee Island together, but Victor realizes now how thin Benji has gotten. Since the accident, Victor just assumed it was partially in his mind, that he was just seeing Benji vulnerable and low.

But here he is, healed, and still thinner than Victor’s ever seen him.

“What?” Benji asks, licking his lips and tilting his head slightly. “Is this okay?”

Victor releases a breath of laughter and nods. “Yeah, it’s fine. I mean, just this, though.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Benji says quickly. “I could lie here and kiss you for hours.”

He leans down and kisses Benji again, just a peck, but as he pulls away he lingers right above Benji’s lips. “As much as I’d like that, I don’t think we’d ever hear the end of it.”

Benji chuckles and props himself up on his elbows. “Good point. I guess we should get ready to go to the beach?”

“It sounds like everybody else is going right down, minus Simon and Bram.”

“Yeah,” Benji says and looks away as Victor climbs off him. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then tries again. “Can I be honest with you about something?”

“Always,” Victor says. A gust blows by outside, rattling the windows slightly. The caw of seagulls pierces the ambience.

Benji stands and turns around. “I used to be pretty comfortable in my body. I tried to take good care of myself, eat things that were good for me for the most part, stuff like that. But ever since the accident, I…” He huffs and sits down on the edge of the bed, facing away from Victor. “Well, a lot of that stopped. There are some days I don’t really eat a whole lot, even when I know I should. There’s a lot of overlap between addiction and things like eating disorders, and I’m not sure if it’s that I have a full-on disorder or if I’m just eating in a disordered way…if that even makes sense,” he says with a nervous laugh.

“So, what are you trying to say?” Victor murmurs, taking a step forward.

Benji finally turns to look at him, his eyes shining sea glass. “I think it’s under control for now, and I’ll be starting therapy soon to help support me through my AA stuff. But until then, I…I just feel kinda weird about people seeing my body, I think.”

“Oh,” Victor says. He isn’t quite sure what to say, so he crawls onto the bed and situates himself behind Benji, resting a cheek on his shoulder. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“Have to what?” Benji asks, his voice hoarse.

“Take your shirt off. I don’t think anybody will really question it.”

Benji laughs quietly, his shoulders shaking. “I don’t know, I think Lake at least might say something. You know how she thinks about me. I mean, it’s all in good fun, but with that Creek Secrets list and everything…”

He does have a point. And then Victor gasps. “Holy shit, I brought that up earlier. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize that you were struggling with this—”

“Hey,” Benji says, rotating and taking both of Victor’s wrists. “You didn’t know. It’s okay. Part of me was really happy that you remembered that, even though you weren’t here for it,” he admits, smiling sardonically. “I think this is just a little road bump, that’s all. I’m self aware enough to realize what’s going on, which feels like a good first step.” He pauses, looks to Victor, and then turns around again to stare out the window at the ocean. “The reason I brought it up is because I have a weird sort of request.”

Victor grips the sheets beneath him and swallows. “What is it?”

“Do you mind if I just…take off my shirt right now? Just for you to see? I think if I can take that step first, I’ll be able to do it down on the beach. Because I do really want to. I still want to have a normal day. As normal as it can be, at least. Whatever normal even means anymore.”

There’s a pause, distant hush of waves crashing on the sand lulling them into comfort.

“Of course, Benji,” Victor whispers. He reaches forward with a tentative hand and rests it between Benji’s shoulder blades. “I’m really sorry you feel that way, so I want to do everything possible to help.”

Benji nods. “Thanks. I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to _do something_ because of, uh…you know,” he says, gesturing vaguely behind himself at the bed.

Victor bites down a giggle. “Totally get it.”

“Cool, okay,” Benji says as he rises, shaking out his hands. “It’s not even a big deal,” he whispers, mostly to himself it seems. He grips the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head.

Watching all the while, Victor is expecting to find Benji skeletal, wasting away, the words ‘eating disorder’ still ringing in his ears. But what he finds, even as Benji faces away, is that, yes, he’s definitely lost most of the trim muscle he had, but for the most part he still looks fairly healthy. At least, he does by Victor’s standards, but he’s not a doctor or anything.

Benji drops the shirt to the floor where it makes a hushed _thwump_ , and then his arms come to rest at his sides. Victor slides his legs out in front of him and pushes off the bed, righting himself directly behind Benji. He carefully reaches out and grabs one of Benji’s shoulders, which causes Benji to shudder.

“Do you want to turn around?” Victor suggests gently.

Benji nods; his shoulders rise and drop slowly as he takes a deep breath, and then he rotates in place to face Victor, head hung, eyes on the floor.

“And do you want me to, uh…look at you?” Victor asks, his eyes locked on Benji’s forehead.

Benji nods. “Yeah, please.”

“Okay,” he says. His eyes trace up and down Benji’s body. His skin is pale, like it hasn’t seen the sun all summer—maybe it hasn’t. There’s a tiny tuft of hair where Benji’s ribs meet above his heart, another small trail beneath his belly button. There are a few scars on his sides, the shadows of some nasty bruises from the accident. But Victor is overcome by an overwhelming sense that it really doesn’t matter at _all_ what Benji looks like, that he’ll find him perfect, desirable, attractive, however he comes.

Victor takes a tiny step forward and wraps his arms around Benji’s shoulders. With a stuttering breath, Benji tucks his face into the crook of Victor’s neck and squeezes Victor tight around the middle.

“Hey,” Victor soothes and rubs Benji’s back gently, the skin warm and smooth beneath his palm. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Benji takes another breath and shudders under Victor’s touch.

“I completely understand why you feel the way you do,” Victor murmurs, continuing the slow circular motion with his hand. “But whatever it is, I know you can work through it. _We_ can work through it, if you want me to help. I’ll never judge you for being whoever you need to be, okay?”

“Okay,” Benji whispers. Victor feels a hot tear through the fabric of his shirt and pulls Benji as close as he can. “Victor, I…” He trails off. The air conditioner kicks in again, its gentle hum their soundtrack as they sway in place.

“What is it?” Victor asks; all he wants in this moment is for Benji to say everything and anything he needs to.

Benji clears his throat. “I missed you. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I missed you, too.”

They hover like that for a moment, Benji shivering slightly in Victor’s arms. The room is blanketed by a crisp chill, processed air pumping through the house like oxygenated blood. Victor can feel Benji’s heart hammering in his chest, smacking up against the bones, calling out for Victor’s own.

“I have another request,” Benji says, hardly audible above the whoosh of air. “I think I’ll feel better if I don’t draw too much attention to myself down on the beach or something, so could you…help me put sunscreen on here first?” He’s smiling a bit now, still embarrassed but more aware of himself.

Victor chuckles and kisses Benji’s temple. “Yeah, as long as you do the same for me.”

“Deal,” Benji says and steps out of Victor’s embrace. He then crosses the room to his bag and leans down, procuring a bottle of lotion from one of the pockets. “You can use it if you want,” Benji says, holding it out in Victor’s direction. “Or did you bring your own?”

“I’ve got it,” Victor says, pulling out the bottle his mother had forced on him while he was packing the night before. He gives Benji a quick glance before tugging off his own shirt and laying it carefully on the bed. Victor is very much aware of Benji’s eyes on his body, scanning him up and down. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he teases lightly.

“I know, it’s just…it’s been a while,” Benji says, tucking his chin to his chest, cheeks rosy.

There’s a sense of reversal as Victor recalls a moment they’d had on this very beach, of Benji reminding him it’s okay to look if he wants to. Victor takes a step toward him and reaches out a hand. Benji eyes it, wary, then allows Victor to pull him close. He takes Benji in his arms again, pressing their bare torsos together.

Victor takes a shuddering breath, Benji’s skin already cold from the air conditioning. Benji laughs, still shivering slightly, and then they both go quiet. There’s a profoundness in this, a pendulum that swings between innocence and something yet to be explored. All that sits between their two kindred cores is a layer of skin, some muscle, some bone. Victor thinks that he would be okay if Benji reached into his chest and clutched his heart in his hand—he would welcome it, even wishes for it. But Benji _has_ already in some ways, hasn’t he? Since the moment their lips touched on a bench outside of Creekwood High, Benji has held Victor’s heart like a small, wounded animal in cupped hands.

“We should probably get down there,” Benji says, his voice resounding in Victor’s chest cavity. He jerks his head toward the window and Victor realizes that Lake and Felix are already situated in the sand; Mia and Andrew are on their way down the beach. They’d been so wrapped up in each other that Victor had completely missed the sounds of their friends departing.

“Yeah, okay,” Victor says with a little laugh. For one more second, two, he refuses to release Benji, enamored with the feeling of Benji’s skin against his own, the sensation that this is another layer of skin that’s always meant to cover him.

Then he lets go and Benji steps away, already reaching for his sunscreen and squeezing it onto his hands. Victor wants to watch as he does this but he force himself to focus on his own task.

After a quiet moment and several instances of flinching at the cold liquid on his skin, Victor steps close the Benji again, who hands Victor his own bottle and turns around. Victor squeezes some of the lotion onto his fingers, rubs it between his palms so it isn’t as cold, then starts at Benji’s shoulders. Benji gasps through his teeth when Victor presses his hands against his back, then relaxes into the touches.

He works quietly, unable to prevent himself from grinning as Benji takes deep breaths. His eyes are closed, Victor thinks. He works down, making sure to cover the skin evenly and not miss anything, over Benji’s shoulder blades, down the sharp line of his spine, to his lower back. There, Victor places his hands on Benji’s sides and gently pushes his thumbs into the two divots just above the waistband of Benji’s swim trunks, which earns him a yelp and a laugh.

“Please don’t,” Benji says, though it’s good-natured.

Victor chuckles and finishes applying the sunscreen. “I forgot how ticklish you are.”

“Well forget it again,” Benji says, turning and indicating for Victor to do the same. He leans over and grabs Victor’s sunscreen and squeezes it right onto Victor’s shoulders.

“Ah!” Victor winces. “It’s freezing. Why the hell is it so cold in here?”

Benji starts working the liquid into Victor’s skin, firmly but gently. “We can turn the AC down a little bit, but when we come up from the beach later you’re gonna wish we hadn’t.” He finishes the job and slaps his hands down on Victor’s shoulders. “Okay, all done.”

Victor turns and smiles. “Thanks. Guess we should get down there.”

Benji pouts and steps into Victor’s space again. “Yeah, we should.”

“We came all this way!” Victor says with a laugh. “It would be sad not to go to the beach with our friends.”

“I know,” Benji says, smirking and wrapping his arms up and around Victor’s neck. “Can you blame me for wanting to be alone with you though?”

He clears his throat, suddenly not cold anymore. “Same goes for you,” he says, which isn’t the sexiest sentiment but still makes Benji’s cheeks flush. “But hopefully we’ll have plenty of time to be alone now that we’re together again.”

“Maybe,” Benji says. He sighs. “I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this to you in so much detail, but my mom is still a little weird on the whole gay thing.”

Victor flashes back to their car ride back from Tybee Island all those months ago, the tension that had risen between them after Benji’s mom called. “In what way?”

“Well, she…She’s not homophobic or anything like that. Honestly, it might be less complicated if she were, as awful as that sounds” he says with a wry chuckle. “And we’ve had a couple of talks where she’s assured me that if I _do_ end up being gay—”

“Which you are,” Victor asserts.

“Yes, I am _very_ gay,” Benji says and tightens his grip behind Victor’s neck. He’s smiling at least, but Victor can tell this is a fraught topic for him. “She just thinks I’m too young to know for sure. She’s always trying to set me up with her coworkers’ daughters and stuff like that. It would be a lot easier if I could tell her, uh…that I’ve already been with girls before.”

This isn’t exactly news to Victor, but something about hearing it in this context does surprise him a little. “You don’t have to tell her the whole truth of it,” he says, slightly uncomfortable but recognizing the need to be supportive. He realizes that his problem isn’t at all that Benji’s been with _girls_ before. It’s that Benji has been with people who aren’t _him_. “You could just tell her you tried to date a couple of girls and it never felt right?”

“Maybe,” he says with a noncommittal shrug. “It’s not really worth it at this point. I know who I am, right? I just need to wait for her to catch up or something. Anyway, the reason I brought this up is I’m not sure how much time we should spend at my house. Not at first, at least.”

Victor nods. Right. And even though his own mother is coming around, there’s no way that he’ll have many opportunities to be _really_ alone with Benji in that apartment. “I get it,” he says, tilting Benji’s face upward with two fingers beneath his jaw. “Let’s try to enjoy this while we have it, right? We can just take another minute and then go to the beach.” He smiles, hoping this is encouraging.

Benji nods, his worry flattening out into a soft smile. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” Victor says, doing a brief internal run-through of all of the mistakes he’s made this summer. “But I try my best.”

“And that’s all I could ask for,” Benji says. His lashes flutter and he closes his eyes, pulling Victor down to kiss him. There’s a slight amount of stubble already situated above Benji’s top lip, along his cheeks, and it scratches against Victor’s skin, a good kind of scratch, finally eliminating an itch he didn’t even realize he had. Benji sucks on his bottom lip then pulls away with a huff of breath. “Sorry. I really do want to take things slow with you, I promise. It’s just.”

“Yeah. I’m with you. It’s hard because you’re so cute,” he says, knocking his forehead against Benji’s shoulder and giggling.

“I think I’m having a similar issue,” Benji murmurs. “Maybe we can sneak away again later.”

“We’ll never hear the end of it,” Victor warns, but Benji just shrugs.

“They’re already gonna give us shit because we’ve been gone for so long. I’d rather let them make a couple of jokes than not get any time alone with you.”

Victor shakes his head, smiling. “I didn’t even think about that. Lake is gonna roast the hell out of us, isn’t she?”

“Afraid so,” Benji says with a dramatic grimace. He pats Victor on the shoulder, then takes his hand. “Might as well get it over with.”

Victor starts to move toward the door, then stops. “Wait, do you want your shirt?”

Benji freezes, then turns and stares at his shirt on the floor. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I already feel a lot better, honestly,” he says. “But! We do need towels and stuff.”

In their rush to meet their friends, they had almost forgotten everything else that’s required for a good beach trip. Victor goes into his bags and grabs a pair of sunglasses, then withdraws his towel, a big fluffy one with blue and white stripes. Benji’s had the same idea; there’s a pair of sunglasses perched up in his hair. His own towel has a picture of a palm tree on it. He slings it over his shoulder and then reaches for Victor again.

Victor wonders if it’s odd, this way they can’t seem to keep their hands away from each other when they’re together. But he likes it. He likes reaching for Benji and feeling certain that Benji will always reach back.

They exit the house, the air outside already so damp compared to the processed air inside. Benji roots around in a little shed connected to the house next to a cabana, coming out with two umbrellas.

He smiles wide and his sunglasses fall from his head down to cover his eyes. Victor laughs and takes one of the umbrellas so Benji can get himself together, and then they trek down over the sand.

Victor is glad for his flip-flops; the sun has already scorched the sand and the heat coming off it is almost solid. Luckily the walk isn’t long, but Victor wonders how their friends have been lying out in the heat.

He finds his answer as they come up and over the hill of sand that sits between the house and the beach. All four of them are in the water, not too far out but enough that only Andrew’s shoulders are visible above the surf. Felix spots them coming and says something to Lake, who lets out a relieved scream that carries off the water.

Benji giggles. “I think she was waiting for an umbrella so she could lay out without getting burnt.”

“She is _not_ gonna be happy,” Victor says, laughing along.

They meet right where everybody’s belongings are gathered. Lake glares at both of them, hands on her hips. “And where the _hell_ have you two been?”

Victor and Benji exchange a glance. “We were just making sure things were all set around the house,” Victor lies.

Lake sneers at him and snatches the umbrella out of his hands as Felix, Mia, and Andrew come up behind her.

“Hey!” Mia says cheerfully, slightly out of breath. “The water’s really nice, not too cold or anything.”

“But the waves are _massive_ ,” Felix says, amazed. He’d told Victor a few days ago that he’s not been to the beach in years and years. “Even Andrew almost got his feet taken out from under—”

“I did _not_ ,” Andrew says, and where it once might have been a real annoyance, the only thing in his voice is a playfulness that Victor is not accustomed to. “I had it under control the whole time.”

“Of course you did, buddy,” Felix says, patting Andrew on the shoulder. He grabs his towel and throws one end into the wind, the cloth billowing and then resting perfectly in the sand. “Anyway, what have the two of you been up to?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. He tosses Victor the beach ball.

Mia laughs then claps a hand to her mouth.

“What?” Victor asks and tosses the ball back to Felix.

She removes her hand and kicks at the sand. “Well, you know, windows go both ways.”

Benji groans and turns a circle in place while Andrew laughs.

“What does _that_ mean?” Victor asks, mortified. Maybe they didn’t have as much privacy as they thought.

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re not all over each other like that when you’re with the rest of us,” she says, shoulders scrunched and arms raised defensively.

“Oh god,” Benji mutters.

Victor laughs and grabs his arm, giving it a little shake. “It could’ve been worse.”

“Are the walls in the house thin?” Lake asks over her shoulder as she jabs her umbrella into the ground. “I am _not_ trying to hear any canoodling tonight.”

“Is anybody even planning on canoodling?” Felix asks and scratches his head as he plops down onto his towel.

Everybody looks around at each other for a moment, and when nobody says a word they all burst into laughter.

“I can’t speak for Simon and Bram, but, uh, definitely no canoodling here,” Victor says, flashing Benji a smile.

“Right, you got it all out of the way already,” Andrew jokes.

Benji huffs and turns his attention to the second umbrella. He sets it up in a way that maximizes their shade, but even then there’s only so much protection from the sun that two beach umbrellas can offer. Victor isn’t as worried about sun exposure, but Benji is definitely pale, enough so that Victor actually worries that they didn’t bring the sunscreen down with them.

“Does anybody need to reapply?” Mia asks, stepping away and misting herself with sunscreen. “You put on sunscreen, right guys?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Benji says. He glances at Victor, sharing a secret, then spreads out his towel, sitting down in the shade. Though he seemed fine about having his shirt off in the room, Victor can tell now that Benji is second-guessing whatever newfound confidence was there—he crosses his arms over his chest, hands on opposite shoulders, as if cold.

Victor kicks off his flip-flops and crouches next to him. “Everything good?”

“Hm? Yeah,” Benji says, looking side to side and releasing his hands. “I didn’t even…Yeah, everything’s okay.” He smiles at Victor, who’s unconvinced but doesn’t want to push anything.

“I think I’m gonna check out the water to cool off,” Victor says. “Wanna come with?”

“Uh, maybe a little later. I think I’m just gonna chill here for now.”

Victor nods. A warm breeze comes through, blowing Benji’s long hair into his face. Victor reaches out without hesitation and tucks it back behind Benji’s ear. “Okay. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he says quietly. Then he stands and stretches. “I’m going down to the water,” he announces to the group.

“Great! I’m gonna come with you,” Mia says cheerfully.

Victor gives Benji one last reassuring look before he breaks off, taking quick strides toward the water. Mia falls in beside him, the sand hot on their feet. When they get to the water, Victor lets out a little cry at the sudden chill, but with another wave or two he’s used to the temperature.

Mia looks over her shoulder and turns to Victor. “Hey, is everything okay? Benji seems…I don’t know. A little off, I guess.”

And Victor has to remind himself that Mia actually knows what that looks like, that she’s now familiar enough with Benji’s “on” to detect when something is amiss.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Victor says, hoping he sounds convincing. “There’s just a lot of memories for us here.” Technically, this is the truth. It’s all sort of connected, isn’t it? “Just off in the water there,” he says and points out into the ocean, “that’s where Benji asked me to be his boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says, soft surprise in her voice. “He told me the two of you came here but I never really got any details.”

Victor smiles. He likes the idea that nobody really know about that trip, that maybe they never will. “Yeah, it was really nice. That was, you know, before everything went down obviously. It was before school even got out for the summer, actually. But both of us really needed to get away.”

“I can imagine. And things are still going well?”

“Never been better, honestly,” he says. A triad of seagulls soars over the chop just in the distance, calling out to each other. Singing, maybe. The sun glitters on the water; Victor can still _feel_ everything he felt that day. The fear, the anxiety, the hope. He turns around and makes eye contact with Benji, who seems to be in the middle of a conversation with Lake. Benji smiles and gives him a little wave, then returns his attention to her. “How about with you and Andrew?”

Mia sighs, but it seems like a good sigh from Victor’s perspective. “It’s good. He was really looking forward to this trip, which shocked me a little but, yeah. It seems like he’s making a real effort to bond with everybody, which is a huge relief. Him and Felix really get along, you know.”

“Really?” Victor asks, though based on what he’s seen he’s not sure if he should be surprised. “I don’t think I would’ve guessed that.”

With a high laugh, she shrugs. “Me either, but I couldn’t be happier. Even him and Lake have moved past whatever little thing they had between them.”

“Wait, Andrew and Lake?”

Mia frowns at him. “Have I never told you about this? For the longest time, Lake had a huge crush on Andrew. There was, like, a really brief period of time when she thought something was actually happening between them, though now that I’ve heard his perspective I do think a lot of that was a little delusional,” she says with a chuckle. “You know how Lake is. Sometimes she prioritizes her reality over everyone else’s.”

“That’s a nice way to put it. Wow, so there’s really a lot of, uh…cross-dating? Is that a word?”

“Yeah, we’ll need a graphic or something to explain all of the dating combos we’ve gone through. We’re like Fleetwood Mac or something.”

Victor laughs, then gasps. “Creekwood Mac!”

“Oh, come on,” she groans, laughing regardless.

“That was clever!”

“Fine, I’ll give that one to you. Creekwood Mac,” she repeats under her breath, clearly amused. “I don’t think I’m ready for this summer to end,” she says, suddenly more serious. “It hasn’t even been a particularly spectacular summer or anything. And I’m not usually the type to be like, ‘blah, fuck school!’ But there’s something about this summer that makes me want to hold on.”

Victor throws another glance over his shoulder. Benji is propped up on one elbow, his head thrown back in laughter. “Yeah,” he agrees, turning back to Mia, “I know exactly what you mean.”

The rest of the early afternoon passes quickly (too quickly, Victor thinks). While Victor was initially worried about the group dynamic, everybody seems to fall into a relative comfort fairly quickly. They talk and exchange anecdotes from the summer. Victor realizes how much he’s missed, reflects on the things that have changed, everything he’s lost, what he’s gained. They’re not equivalent. Not quite. He stills worries about the state of his family, uncertain about what’s going to happen to his father. The idea of going back to school fills him with dread; surely all attention is going to be on him and Benji, especially since the discovery of Evan Rossman is still fresh.

And he’s healing. It’s taken some time to come to terms with it, but some of the events of this summer can only be described as traumatic. Still, it seems he’s made it out the other side, not unscathed but wiser for it. All of it is worth it, though. He’s reminded of this every time Benji casually lays his hand over Victor’s, of the way Benji will sometimes reach out and rub Victor’s shoulder for a moment, run a thumb along his cheek. No explanation, no expectation. It’s just Benji’s way, Victor realizes, and he thinks it might be his way as well. Even when they’re surrounded by their friends, the two of them are able to exchange something private in a well-timed glance, a brief touch. It’s electric, magnetic, and Victor has never experienced anything like it in his life.

Simon and Bram join them shortly after Victor and Benji have gotten fully situated. They arrive with a cooler on wheels full of bread, cold cuts, drinks, and a large bag of snacks and other sandwich making supplies. Upon their arrival, Bram immediately drops everything and sprints to the water, diving into the waves headfirst with a jubilant cry. Simon just stands by and shakes his head, smiling after his boyfriend.

They make lunch, chatting and eating around the cooler. Lake complains about the wind kicking sand up into her sandwich. Felix responds to this by launching into a story—which is obviously made up—about how they’re called sandwiches _because_ they were invented on the beach and the sand particles provide a kind of crunch that no other ingredient will get you.

At this, Lake just rolls her eyes and throws a potato chip at Felix’s head, which causes a flock of seagulls to swoop in, screeching. Andrew stands and bellows at them, waving his arms, jumping up and down, but they’re pretty insistent on getting that chip. They all cover their food until the gulls calm down.

For a while, they sit close together in the shade as Simon and Bram tell them stories about Creekwood as they knew it, comparing it to the way things are now (most of which they’ve heard from Victor). Benji almost drowns on a sip of Mountain Dew Baja Blast (“They sell this in fucking _cans_ now!” Bram had announced excitedly upon revealing them in the cooler) when Simon recalls a time Bram got his arm caught in a vending machine trying to retrieve a bag of chips that hadn’t quiet made it to the bottom.

After they finish eating, they spend the rest of the early afternoon lounging, chatting, occasionally walking up to the water. At one point Andrew drags a squealing Mia into the waves and throws her in, and then moments later disappears beneath the waves. Mia is much stronger than she looks, as it turns out. Meanwhile, Victor and Benji are spread out on towels beside each other, breeze playing over their backs while upbeat music lulls from a speaker Felix had brought with him. Victor is full and warm and Benji is beside him, and he wonders if he’ll ever need anything more than that.

Around three, Bram announces that they’d seen a large outdoor mini golf place on their way to the store and want to check it out.

Benji gives Victor a look. This had been part of their plan the last time they were here, before everything sort of went to shit and they had to rush home. “We’re in,” Benji says.

“Good. This is the only sport Simon can really play because it just involves standing upright,” Bram says, which earns him a gentle smack on the chest from Simon. “Anybody else?”

Felix looks at Lake expectantly. She pouts back at him. “Babe, can’t we just enjoy the beach?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says with a little sigh. “There are mini golf places near Atlanta anyway.” Victor can tell he’s a bit disappointed, but the Felix he knows now is a lot different from the Felix he’d met on their first day in Atlanta, definitely more mature. He watches as Felix leans over and kisses Lake on the cheek, then settles back on his own towel.

“What about Mia and Andrew?” Simon asks.

Victor looks to the water, where they’re splashing each other and jumping over waves. “I think they’ll be fine here,” he says, partially because he thinks it’s true and partially because the prospect of going on a double date with Simon and Bram is too tantalizing to pass up.

“All right, let’s go then!” Bram says.

They collect their things, leave the umbrellas on the beach for the others, and trek back up to the house to take quick showers before they hop in Simon’s car.

* * *

The mini golf facility is enormous and, just as Benji had promised Victor months ago, completely dinosaur themed. There are two different courses: one is indoor and relies heavily on UV light for a glow in the dark aesthetic, while the other one is completely outdoor and scrawls across a huge amount of land, ending with a rather large model volcano that needs to be climbed to reach the final hole.

“It’s a nice day,” Benji says as they decide, “I think we should do the outdoor one.”

Nobody objects to this, so outdoor it is.

Victor answers a text from his mother, sending her a picture of the volcano in the distance, and also takes a selfie of himself and Benji for good measure.

From the first hole, it’s clear that Benji is going to destroy them. He’s up first and concentrates rather intently on lining up his shot, the little blue golf ball resting just so against the end of his club. He knocks it across the green and off the ramp that launches the ball over the turquoise dyed water, and the ball rolls right into the hole.

Victor scoffs. “Are you kidding? How did you do that?”

“Just lucky,” Benji says, and something about the humility makes Victor flush. How is he supposed to get fake mad at Benji if he’s not even reveling in his skill?

Victor is up next, then Bram and Simon, who all manage to complete the first hole in two strokes. Simon is in charge of the scorecard and marks this down as they move to the next hole. Victor and Benji walk close together, fingers brushing. Behind them, Bram is saying, “That two just looks like a random scribble,” to which Simon retorts, “ _You_ try writing with a shitty little pencil and walking at the same time.”

The results for hole two are similar to the first. Somehow, again, Benji makes a hole in one, knowing the exact timing so that the animatronic pterodactyl doesn’t peck his ball off course.

“Seriously, how are you doing it?” Victor asks as he takes his own shot. He tries to follow Benji’s example, but the dinosaur’s beak comes down right as his ball is passing, sending it spinning in the wrong direction. Victor pouts at Benji as they step aside for Simon and Bram to golf.

Benji chuckles as Simon meets the same fate. “Okay, maybe it’s a little unfair. My dad used to take me here all the time when I was younger. I used to be really afraid of the ocean so I _hated_ the beach, which meant every time we were here for vacation him and I would get to go on this little bonding trip to play mini golf together.”

“Oh, that’s really sweet. I guess you got over that fear?”

“Well, yeah,” Benji says, ducking his head with an embarrassed smile. “A lot sooner than I told him, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs. “I kept up the charade of being scared of the water so that we could keep coming mini golfing together. I was afraid it would stop if I told him I wasn’t afraid of the ocean anymore. It was one of the only times we really got to spend quality time together. I know, it sounds stupid. I probably should have just been honest and asked if we could come alone together anyway, but…”

“No, I get it,” Victor says, laying a hand on Benji’s shoulder. Being so physical in public still makes him fidget, but something about having Bram and Simon with them alleviates this to an extent. “Do you still come here with him?”

“Nah,” Benji says, studying the end of his club at his feet. “We stopped when I was eleven or something like that. I mean, we’ve stopped coming to the beach altogether since I started high school, but even before that things were always weird. A lot of times him and my mom would argue that it was too expensive to take me to do something separate from the rest of the family, and then I think my dad started associating that house with fighting with my mom. So we just sort of. Stopped.”

“Hey, Vic, you’re up!” Bram calls from further on down the green; it seems he’s managed to bypass the pterodactyl.

Victor gives him a thumbs up. “Be right there!” he calls. He then lowers his voice again. “That sounds like a lot. I didn’t know that you had so many memories of this place.”

Benji shrugs. “Yeah, towards the end it stopped being enjoyable. It was always just so…tense, like, all the fucking time.” He pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. “But it’s okay, because I’m making new memories now.”

“Good ones, I hope?”

“Amazing ones.”

Victor smiles, almost reaches for Benji’s hand, but then Bram calls his name again. He clears his throat. “I’m sure you kicking all of our asses will go somewhere towards the top of the list,” he says as he steps toward his ball.

“Oh, it’s number one, baby,” Benji says, then chuckles as Victor hits his ball right into the dinosaur again.

The next three holes progress in a similar manner. Benji continues to wipe the floor with the three of them, scoring below par for holes three and four and getting another hole in one on the fifth hole, which is particularly impressive; this hole involves sending the ball along the spine of a stegosaurus, between its plates, and landing it into the opening on the crown of the dinosaur’s head.

Simon pulls Victor aside before the next hole, grinning to himself as he updates the scorecard.

“What’s up?” Victor asks, watching as Bram and Benji go ahead. They’re chatting about something—Victor can’t tell what from this distance—but both of them are laughing and occasionally making strange noises. Impersonating dinosaurs, maybe.

Simon finally looks up from the slip of paper. “I just wanted to check in, that’s all.”

“Check in?”

He shrugs. “Just to see how you’re feeling. It’s really great to watch you and Benji together, by the way. The way he looks at you is…It’s just really nice. You deserve it.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Victor says, hunching his shoulders slightly. “Things are good. I was a little worried that being back here might be upsetting for both of us, but it seems like we’re past it. Well, not past it. But we’re willing to put things aside and enjoy ourselves for now.”

“That’s great!” Simon says and claps Victor on the shoulder. He turns to look at their boyfriends, right as Benji takes a shot and just _barely_ misses the hole, which causes Bram to cry out in a mixture of triumph and disappointment. “It’s weird, right? I mean, it’s incredible, but it’s weird.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Victor responds, twisting his club between his hands. “In some ways, you and Bram are sort of like a blueprint for me,” he admits. “I’d never seen two guys in such a happy relationship—or _any_ relationship, really—until the two of you. I guess it’s just cool to see that something like that is actually attainable.”

Simon grins at him. “Things aren’t always perfect, though. I’m sure you’ve thought about that yourself, but it’s worth mentioning. We argue sometimes, usually over the stupidest little things. Sometimes we forget to communicate and things slip through the cracks. But we always address our problems as soon as we realize we have them, and we’re not afraid to disagree on things. It’s not perfect, is what I’m saying.”

“But that’s what makes it so good.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”

Benji calls from down the green, “Victor, you’re slowing down this whole operation!”

Victor smiles and shakes his head. “Thanks for taking a second, Simon,” he says. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. I’m glad we were all able to make this work.”

“Same,” Victor says as he steps up to the start of the hole and drops his ball onto the turf.

This hole is tricky; it’s a pretty straight shot, but there are huge divots in the ground where fake dinosaur eggs sit. If he’s off by a little, it’ll take him forever to get his ball out. He narrows his eyes and stares down the goal, shifting slightly on his heels to find his balance. Breath held, Victor swings his club and watches the ball fly down the green.

“Oh, oh, _oh_!” Bram says with increasing intensity as the ball approaches the hole, and then when it creeps to the hole’s edge and tips in, all four of them burst with celebration.

Victor runs down the course to see his hole in one and when he gets there Benji bounds up to him, throws his arms around Victor’s neck, and kisses him.

“ _Mmph_!” Victor hums in surprise.

Benji pulls away. “Oh, god, I’m sorry, I wasn’t even thinking, I just got excited—”

Victor cuts him off by rejoining their lips, both of them smiling into the kiss. “No, it’s okay.”

“Oh. Okay,” Benji says, his tone delighted. He kisses Victor one more time before stepping away.

“Ugh, there are _kids_ here,” comes a voice from behind them. “Nobody wants to fucking see that shit.”

Victor’s heart drops and he whips around; there’s a small group of guys finishing at the hole behind them, two of them giving Victor and Benji disgusted looks.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Bram asks, incredulous, stepping in front of them protectively.

“I said that nobody wants to see that gay shit,” one of the guys says, sneering.

Bram huffs a laugh. “And nobody wants to see your Great Clips haircut or your ratty ass cargo shorts, but you don’t see me filing verbal complaints. Do you know what fucking year it is?”

The guys look at each other, clearly shocked that Bram has pushed back. The two others have joined their friends, confused but concerned.

“Fuckin—whatever, man, let’s just leave. Not worth it,” one of them grumbles. “Fuck y’all,” he says lamely as they turn around.

Bram flips them off. “By the way, if you’re so averse to “gay shit,” you probably shouldn’t be playing a game that revolves around balls and holes!” he jeers after them.

Simon chuckles and steps toward Bram, placing a hand on his upper arm. “Okay, they’re leaving.” He turns to Victor and Benji. “Are you two all right? That was extremely shitty.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Benji says, though his voice is thin and breathy. He reaches out and squeezes Victor’s hand, gives him a searching look.

Victor nods, though he’s shaking a bit. “All good,” he says and takes a weak breath.

“We can leave if you want,” Bram offers, anger melting into concern.

Victor shakes his head. “No. It’s fine, they’re gone.” Because what he’s so sick of is being terrified to live his life, the fear of what other people might think, might say, might do. He let himself get so lost in that that he almost lost some of the most important people in his life. “We should stay and finish,” he says firmly. He looks to Benji, who gives him an encouraging nod and squeezes his hand again. “If you want to.”

“Yeah, I think we should,” Benji says, and as if to punctuate the point, he kisses Victor on the cheek. “Seriously though, awesome shot, Victor. This hole is infamous.”

Bram steps toward them with a smile. “It really was impressive. I don’t think you’ll be able to beat Benji’s score, but that gave you a leg up.”

While Simon and Bram take their own swings, Victor and Benji stand to the side, their fingers still tangled together. Victor fights the urge to look over his shoulder, to see if anybody else is watching, prowling, preying. He’s proud of himself for this, and it feels good to stand here and hold Benji’s hand, to be visible, to not hide.

By the end of the game (climbing up the volcano had _not_ been easy; Simon is still puffing from the ascent) Victor is terrified of Benji’s mini golf skills. He’s beaten them all by a concerning margin, especially considering it’s been some time since he came to this course.

“We’ll have to do the one inside sometime, too,” Benji says as they leave. His hand is pressed to Victor’s and he swings their arms cheerfully as they struggle to find Simon’s car in the parking lot.

“Oh, what, after dinner?” Victor teases. “Haven’t you shown off enough for the day?”

Benji pokes him in the side with a mischievous grin. “Obviously not today. Next summer, maybe.”

And that there _is_ a next summer, even a _maybe_ next summer, feels like a lush island on the distant horizon.

* * *

When they return to the house, everybody has come up from the beach and showered. They’re lounging around quietly; Felix and Andrew are both snoring while Mia and Lake look at their phones.

“Ugh, thank _god_ you’re back,” Lake huffs when they come through the door.

Felix and Andrew both startle awake. Felix falls off the couch with a flat, “Ow.”

“Have fun?” Mia asks.

Benji smirks. “Yeah, I know I did.”

“He steamrolled us,” Bram says as he goes into the fridge. “And I worked up something of an appetite, so I think I’m gonna get dinner started now. Good with y’all?”

Victor looks at the time on the microwave in the kitchen; somehow it’s already past five. He does feel a bit hungry, and he figures by the time everything’s ready to go he’ll be more inclined to eat. “Works for me,” he says.

“What are you making?” Mia asks and hops up from the couch.

Bram smiles. “We’ll be having _the_ beach dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs with caesar salad and garlic bread.”

Victor and Benji exchange a look at the mention of meatballs, an old inside joke bouncing back and forth unspoken between them.

“I got regular meatballs and also vegan ones. I forgot to ask before we left if we would need them. Anyway, I would like two volunteers to help me out,” Bram says. “Any more than that and it’ll get too crowded.”

Benji steps forward. “I will.”

“Okay perfect. Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Andrew grumbles from his couch. His eyes are still closed, cheek pressed into the cushion “Just. Gimme a minute.”

Bram laughs but says nothing, elects instead to start gathering the ingredients and doling out tasks to Benji. Andrew finally rises and joins them as Victor climbs the stairs, suddenly craving a moment alone.

He pushes into Benji’s room and closes the door behind him, soaking in the casual hum of the air conditioning. He removes his flip-flops and stacks them neatly on top of his bag. Making his way out to the deck, he smiles to himself. There are still a few groups of people down on the beach, their joyful voices carrying up from the sand. The wind tickles Victor’s face, hair flapping. The cool, sandy boards feel like heaven against his bare feet.

Victor reclines on the wicker couch. The cushions aren’t the most comfortable, but he still finds his eyes closing. In the shade of the house it’s a gorgeous day, fluffy swaths of cloud embroidered into the atmosphere, shifting through the sky like a white quilt. He figures resting his eyes for a moment couldn’t hurt, so he allows his lids to shield out the sun. Crossing his arms over his chest, he inhales a deep breath of sea air.

Someone is shaking him awake.

Victor forces his eyes open, blinking in the brightness. Benji is crouched beside him, his lips twisted into an affectionate smile. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Victor replies, pushing himself so he’s sitting upright. “I think I fell asleep.”

Benji giggles and nods. “You did. Sleep well?”

“Definitely. Something about napping at the beach hits different.”

Reaching out and smoothing down Victor’s hair, Benji rises and offers his hand. “Couldn’t agree more. Dinner’s just about ready, so all sleeping will have to be saved for later on.”

Victor takes his hand and Benji pulls him up, pulls him close.

“I can’t even tell you how happy I am that we did this,” Benji says softly.

Victor takes Benji’s other hand and runs his thumbs over his knuckles. “Same. I feel like I haven’t even thought about school starting again. Is that bad?”

“No, I haven’t either,” Benji admits. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I just want to spend a bunch of time with you, honestly.”

“Yeah, we didn’t really get to have much of a first summer together, did we?”

Benji exhales a high breath. “Not really. But I’ve done enough wishing things were different. At this point, I just want to live in the way things actually _are_. I’m starting my senior year next week, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Victor says. He hates thinking about this and as a result hasn’t thought about it much at _all_. A year from now, who knows where Benji will be? And they’ve been through so much together, have curated this water-tight seal between them, but Victor isn’t sure what happens if Benji departs, if that seal is stretched over towns and cities and time and miles. “I think I’ll be in denial until the moment I watch you actually accept your diploma.”

“I could always fail out to give us another year together,” Benji jokes, but Victor can see that even joking about it makes him uncomfortable. And maybe it should, because they’ve done all this work to weave a bridge between their independence while keeping it intact. Benji should never hold himself back for Victor’s sake, and Victor is sure now that he wouldn’t ask him to. “Victor and Benji take Creekwood senior year,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

“It _sounds_ like a cheesy movie,” Victor says and raises a hand to Benji’s face. “Hey, are you okay?”

Benji shrugs, but even as he does a tear spills from his right eye.

“Whoah, what’s going on?” Victor asks gently, pulling Benji gently down to the couch.

He resists, pulls his hands out of Victor’s, but sits regardless. “It’s nothing, I’m just overthinking and worrying about things that I can’t be worrying about yet.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Benji smiles, though another tear creeps down his cheek. Victor reaches out and brushes it away. “Not really. I mean, we have to go down for dinner, first of all.” He laughs—a sad, watery exhale. “I’m just really scared of the future, I guess. But I don’t think there’s anybody who _isn’t_ , so it’s ridiculous to—”

“Hey, just because lots of people feel that way doesn’t mean that you’re not allowed to,” Victor says and moves closer. “I know this is, like, the most played out advice ever, but you really just need to take it a day at a time. You have so much going on right now, Benji.”

“And so do you,” he points out.

Victor hums. “Well, that’s true, but that doesn’t make your stuff less valid. That line of thinking is what ruined my summer, remember? What broke us up in the first place?”

Benji sniffles and runs the back of his hand across his eyes. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just—The last thing I ever want to do is cause you pain if I can avoid it.”

“But that shouldn’t mean you have to go through it alone. Look, I _get it_. I tried closing myself to every good person in my life because I didn’t want them to have to deal with all of the messes I was making. Benji, I’m here because I _want_ to be. I’ve never wanted anything else more than this. We both knew what we were getting into, and maybe there’s a lot of baggage, but we’re carrying it together right?” He takes Benji’s hand and raises it to his lips, presses a kiss into his skin. “Sometimes that means one of us will get tired and that the other will be carrying more weight. But I’m willing to do that, just like you did for me before all of that shit happened between us. That’s just what we do for each other now.”

With a sigh, Benji folds down into Victor’s lap. “You amaze me, Victor Salazar. Every single day, you manage to amaze me.”

Victor says nothing, just tangles his fingers carefully in Benji’s hair. The sky is just starting to take on tinges of pink, orange, shadows stretching long and haughty onto the sand. They stay like this for a short stretch of time, the whisper of wind almost enough to coax Victor back to sleep. He breathes in time with Benji, and he can’t help but worship the way their bodies can do this, can be together and move in time and connect on such a physical level.

Finally, Victor sighs and pats Benji’s side. “We should probably head downstairs now.”

“Yeah, we should,” Benji pouts, gazing up at Victor. “Kiss me first?”

Victor’s mouth curls into a smile as he leans down and finds Benji’s lips with his own, surprised to find them slightly sweet and citrusy. Lemonade, he thinks. Benji kisses him back, a hand naturally rising to caress Victor’s jaw, and he pushes gently against Victor, suddenly straddling him on the couch.

And then the door to Benji’s room opens and Benji tumbles out of Victor’s lap and onto the deck.

Victor whips around to find Mia, arms crossed and one brow arched. “Uh, dinner’s ready, but don’t let me stop you if—”

“No! We’ll be right down,” Benji squeaks from on the ground.

Mia just sighs and closes the door behind her.

Victor helps Benji off the floor, both of them laughing, cheeks red. “So much for privacy.”

“To be fair,” Benji says, “she called me twice and I ignored it both times.”

“Ah. We had it coming.”

Benji kisses him once more, just a peck, and then heads for the door. “Yeah, maybe we did.”

Victor follows him inside.

Their friends mill about the kitchen, stepping around each other with full plates. The sound of serving utensils against dishes clinks through the air and the whole house smells like garlic and butter. Victor’s stomach growls, loud enough for Benji to hear.

“Whoah,” he says with a laugh and places his hand against Victor’s abdomen, fingers splayed. “Are you hiding a jungle cat, or, like, a sports car?”

Victor swats Benji’s hand away and gives him a little shove toward the kitchen. “Shut up,” he teases, then falls in line behind Felix.

“Dude, where have you been?” Felix asks. “Mia and Lake got into this legendary fight—”

“It was _not_ a fight,” Lake says with a roll of her eyes. “We just had a disagreement about who the best Spider-Man is.”

Felix turns to Victor, an open-mouthed smile across his face. “It was hot.”

“Wait, but who do you both think it is?” Victor asks.

Lake sighs and takes a large serving of salad from the bowl. “Tom Holland, obviously. Plus, Tom has Zendaya.”

“And as much as I stan Zendaya,” Mia interrupts, “I just think Andrew Garfield did a better job with the role. Plus, he’s cuter.”

“No he’s not,” Lake, Benji, and Andrew all say at the same time.

Victor laughs and takes some spaghetti. “So I guess we don’t care about Tobey Maguire?”

“ _Ha_!” Lake barks as almost everybody else supplies a chorus of, “No,” and “Definitely not.”

Not that Victor has much of a preference, but he’s always felt Maguire got shoved to the back for no reason.

“Honey, that man looks like he has the _suds_ ,” Bram cackles as he brings his food over to the table.

Benji is behind Victor in the line around the island, his chin resting on Victor’s shoulder as he waits to serve himself. Victor throws his hip back gently to bump Benji, which elicits a half-hearted “Hey!” and then a giggle.

Finally, they’re all sitting around the table, the room full of electric chatter and laughter. Victor’s chosen the seat at the head of the table, Benji to his right and Bram to his left, and as he looks around at his friends, passing around a basket of bread, butter, Andrew distributing napkins to everybody, he’s overcome by the urge to speak.

So he stands and clears his throat.

The room goes quiet; a few people have paused mid-action, and everybody is looking at him intently.

“Uh,” he says, the sudden urge fleeting now that the attention is actually on him, “I just wanted to say something before we eat.”

“ _Pfft_ , like grace?” Lake jokes. Mia smacks her shoulder and gives her a frown.

Victor chuckles and wipes his palms on his shorts. “I mean, sort of.” He looks down at Benji, who seems confused but gives him a nod regardless. “As you all probably know, this summer has been…it’s been really difficult,” he starts, feeling like his voice is caught in his throat. “It’s a little crazy to think that it’s only been like eight months since my family came to Shady Creek, but it’s even crazier to think about all of the things that have happened since then. And that there was a period of time when I thought everything good I had found for myself here was gone.”

Here, Benji reaches out and takes Victor’s hand, but says nothing. Bram follows Benji’s lead and takes Victor’s other hand, then Benji takes Mia’s, and then everybody is linked around the circle.

“I really fucked things up for a little while,” he continues and laughs nervously, which allows everybody else to laugh with him, relieving a bit of the tension. “But even despite that, all of you supported me through it, even though sometimes I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I’m not always the best son or brother, or the best friend,” he says, glancing at Felix, “or the best boyfriend,” he says, looking between Mia and Benji, “but I really am trying my best. And I feel extremely lucky that I have people like you guys who can recognize that. So I guess I just wanted to say thanks to all of you for everything you’ve done for me, and I want to thank…I don’t know if it’s something divine or the forces of the universe or _what_ , but somebody or something needs to be thanked for having everything fall apart so it could be put back together in a way that’s better than it was before.”

Felix sniffles while Benji gives Victor’s hand a little shake. There are tears in Victor’s eyes and the golden light pouring in off the water refracts a million times, filling in all of the holes so all he can see are the blurry faces of his friends and shining brilliance.

“There’s this thing that my family used to do whenever we knew any one of us would be spending time apart from everybody else,” Victor says after a silence. “And since school is about to start again, and Simon and Bram will be leaving Atlanta in a couple of days and who knows what the next couple of months hold for the rest of us, it might be nice to try?”

Mia nods. “What is it?” she asks gently.

“I’m just going to squeeze Bram’s hand,” Victor explains, suddenly feeling juvenile, “and then he’ll squeeze Simon’s, and Simon will squeeze Felix’s, and we just keep that circle going, faster and faster until we’re all just holding each other really tight. The idea is supposed to be that we’re all like…sharing our energy I guess? It, uh, it sounds a little stupid but—”

“No,” Benji says. “It’s not stupid. Let’s do it.”

Victor smiles at him and mouths _thanks_. Benji winks back.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Victor says. He gives Bram’s hand a squeeze and watches as it gets passed down the line until it comes back to him through Benji. Victor sends it around again and this time it gets to him faster, so he keeps the pace until everybody is laughing and squeezing each other’s hands randomly, just holding on tight to the chaos and the joy. And maybe the exercise is really about that, about sharing something small, something nearly meaningless, but something that becomes just yours and won’t ever be experienced by anyone else.

Finally, everybody calms down and Victor sighs. “Thanks again, everyone.” His stomach growls and Benji bursts out into laughter. “Yeah, okay, we should eat now,” he says as he sits down, laughing along as he picks up his fork.

Once Benji has composed himself, he leans over and murmurs in Victor’s ear, “That was really special. You have a way of doing that, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“You just make everything—every _body—_ feel special. Not many people can genuinely do that,” he says and sits back, turning his attention to his dinner and the story Felix is telling about the time he accidentally locked a pigeon in his room and subsequently kept it as a pet until his mom discovered the bird.

Victor catches Simon’s eye down the table; Simon raises his fork in a sort of toast, so Victor copies the motion and pops a piece of meatball into his mouth.

Bram must see this, because he wipes his mouth and grabs his glass (which is full of Baja Blast) and rises, tapping his fork against it. “I would like to propose a toast!”

“Oh, god,” Simon groans and buries his face in his hands.

Bram frowns. “I—no, Si, this is a good one, I promise.”

“Go on, then,” Simon says, hands muffling his voice.

“All I want to say is this: I didn’t really find a friend group in high school until halfway through my senior year, and it was only because I forced my way into one by dating their leader.”

“I was not the _leader_ —”

“ _SHHH_ ,” Bram says with an exaggerated frown in Simon’s direction. “My point is, what y’all have is special. People always tell you high school isn’t forever, that the people you meet in high school aren’t in your life forever. In a lot of cases that’s true, and it’s sad, but it’s part of life. And even though I don’t want to make any predictions, y’all seem like a pretty good group. Anyway, regardless of what might happen five years down the road, promise me you’ll enjoy high school as much as you can, because even if it isn’t forever, it _is_ right now.”

“To right now!” Felix cries, standing and raising his glass (and spilling water all over Lake in the process).

Everybody else follows suit, raising their glasses and clinking them together.

Victor comes to Benji last. “To right now,” he says again, this time just for Benji.

“Right now,” Benji echoes and taps his glass against Victor’s. “All we’ll ever need.”

* * *

Things are winding down for the night. All of the beds have been set up, and though there’s still a rowdy game of Cards Against Humanity going on downstairs, Victor and Benji are curled up on the couch on the deck outside Benji’s room.

The moon carves a silver cone through the water, its shine only interrupted by gentle waves. They had been much rougher earlier in the day, but the ocean seems to have calmed for now, providing a muted hush.

Neither of them has spoken for several minutes at this point, content just to be wrapped in each other’s arms. Without the sun the air has gone chilly, so both of them are clad in sweatshirts (both of them Victor’s, as Benji had forgotten to pack one and for some odd premonitory reason Victor decided to pack two).

Victor is behind Benji on the couch and he runs the finger of his free hand (the other is pinned beneath Benji) up and down Benji’s torso, occasionally stopping to press his palm against Benji’s sternum. Even through two layers of clothing, Victor can feel Benji’s heart fluttering, and it makes his own spasm in turn.

“Do we have to go home tomorrow?” Benji asks.

Victor stops the motion of his hand and uses his arm to squeeze Benji instead. “You don’t want to miss the summer carnival, do you?”

“I’ve never understood why it’s called that,” Benji grumbles. “The whole point of the carnival is to mark the _end_ of the summer. It’s always just made me kind of sad.”

“Do you go every year?”

“Yeah, but I felt like it got less and less fun as I got older.”

Victor frowns. “You seemed to be having fun at the winter carnival though.”

“Wow, you remember that?”

“Oh, uh,” Victor says, embarrassed. “Yeah, I do. There was a really small part of me that almost asked to hang out with you that night, actually.”

“No kidding,” Benji muses and shifts so he’s facing Victor, nose to nose. “You would’ve been disappointed. I was with Derek then, remember?”

“Huh. I didn’t even think about that. Was he there?”

Benji chuckles, his breath tickling Victor’s face. “Hell no. The carnival was for children, in his eyes. He even tried to schedule a rehearsal that night, but Lucy managed to convince me to stand up for myself. She always hated Derek.”

Though he’s never met Lucy, Victor has heard a lot about her through Benji. He’ll be finally meeting her at the carnival tomorrow, which is another reason they need to be there.

“Speaking of, how are things going with the band?”

“Things are _not_ going. Not right now, at least. We decided to take the summer off, and we’re gonna start looking for a new bassist once the semester starts. Yet another problem Derek left behind.”

Victor wrinkles his nose. “I really don’t like that guy.”

“That’s fair. I don’t care for him much myself.”

Before Victor can laugh at this, they’re interrupted by a massive explosion. Victor cries out and smacks his forehead into Benji’s accidentally as the sky lights up purple.

A firework. It’s a firework. Of course, it’s Labor Day Weekend. People will take any opportunity they can to set off some fireworks.

Benji chuckles to himself and rubs his forehead, the rushes up to the railing as the final sparks crackle out.

Victor takes a steadying breath, the volume of the initial burst still ricocheting between his ears.

Down below, their friends spill out of the house, their voices excited and energized as they climb the sand dune to get a good view. Their neighbor three houses down is the one setting off the explosives, and even through the darkness Victor can see someone clicking a lighter to life and holding it beneath two different setups.

A moment later, two shapes stream into the sky and burst into color with enormous booms. Victor flinches, the sound resounding in him in a way fireworks never have before.

Benji doesn’t seem to notice; he lets out a cheer and wraps an arm around Victor’s waist.

Down on the beach, under the moonlight, puffs of smoke parade like ghosts across the sand, phantoms backlit by piercing silver, soon joined by two more as additional fireworks go up.

Victor forces himself to focus on Benji’s face, highlighted in technicolor as the sky illuminates green and blue. He flinches again at the explosion and finds that his knees are shaking, his breath coming in strange gasps.

Another singular firework, an extra large one the gleams gold and sends smaller bursts screaming off in spirals. The bang is a firework, and then it’s a gunshot and Victor is in New York City, drunk, collapsed in an alley, and then Benji is turning to him with a smile on his face as another rocket booms, dyeing the world pink, and Victor stumbles backward, back into Benji’s room.

He collapses on the bed, a cold sweat taking him over. He clutches at the sheets. He can’t breathe. Vision comes in and out of focus in the darkness and he cries out with another blast of sound and light, though it’s muffled now that they’re indoors.

Benji is on the bed next to him, also panting. “Victor, what—what’s happening?”

Victor claps his hands over his ears as another firework erupts; he screams, a croaking sound that comes from deep in his gut.

“I don’t know what to do,” Benji says, panicked. “Victor, I don’t understand, I don’t—”

Victor shoves his head between Benji’s arms, burying himself in Benji’s lap as another bang sounds from outside. He grits his teeth and tries to suck a breath down but his brain is going off, synapses firing green and purple and blue and red and gold on all cylinders. Benji wraps his arms around Victor; he’s trying to ground himself, Victor thinks, but he can’t concentrate on what Benji’s doing when his heart is beating so hard he’s afraid it’s going to bruise his lungs and every nerve is buzzing, humming.

“Shh,” Benji says through tears, gripping the back of Victor’s sweatshirt. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. I promise I’ve got you.”

Victor curls himself further into Benji’s body. Though the fireworks have stopped, his head is full of the sharp, crisp sound of the gunshot, the grand splendor of fireworks blasting out over the ocean, their colors reflecting in the water, the past reflecting against Victor’s blurry sight until he can’t tell the difference.

Benji rubs his back, then gasps. “I’ll be right back, okay? I swear, I’ll just be gone for a second.”

“B-Benji,” Victor says as Benji peels himself away and slides off the bed.

Victor shoves his face into the mattress, arms wrapped around himself. The sound of Benji’s unnerved footfalls retreating down the hallway is almost as bad as the looping explosion in his brain, but before he knows what’s happening Benji is back on the bed, breathing heavily. There’s something round and yellow in his hand.

“Victor, I need you to bite into this lemon,” he says.

He can’t comprehend this request and starts to wonder if he’s lost his grip on reality altogether, but Benji shoves the fruit to Victor’s lips.

“Victor, just take a bite, you have to trust me,” Benji insists, crying again.

And because he’s lost all control of everything, Victor does exactly as Benji says. He sinks his teeth into the rind and down through the fruit.

Instantly his mouth is full of sour, bitter lemon flesh and suddenly that’s all he can think about as juice dribbles from the corners of his mouth. His vision snaps back into focus and, once he’s cleared his mouth of the fruit, he finds he can breathe again, though his breaths still come in rasps.

Benji is sitting before him, tear tracks framing his relieved smile. “Did it work?”

“I…I think so,” Victor says, forcing a huge breath down into his lungs; the air stutters as he brings it in and pushes it out, but it’s a good enough start that the next two cycles of breath come easier. “Where did you learn that?” he asks once he’s in control again.

Benji leans forward and takes Victor’s face in his hands, an ameliorated laugh slipping through his lips. He kisses Victor’s forehead. “TikTok, of all places,” he admits. “Something about the intensity of the lemon gets you out of your head and back in your body.”

“That’s so stupid,” Victor says, still crying and also maybe laughing; he doesn’t even know at this point. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think that was going to happen.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Benji asks, puling Victor against his chest.

Victor swallows and drags an arm across his face to dry the remaining tears. “I don’t know. I mean, it was…Remember what I told you about what happened in New York?”

“Oh, my god,” Benji breathes. “I didn’t think about that either. Holy shit, Victor, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“It’s okay,” Victor cuts him off. The last thing he needs right now is for both of them to be panicking. “I’m fine now, I think. There was just a minute there when I…I sort of slipped away I think? And I couldn’t figure out if I was here or there, and then I kept reliving it over and over—” He stops himself; he’s getting worked up again, so he switches back to deep, deliberate breaths.

Victor rights himself and takes one of Benji’s hands, bringing its back to to his cheek. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “You handled that better than I would’ve.”

Benji shrugs and turns his hand so he’s holding Victor’s face. “I was trying to think about what I might need if I were in that state of mind, but I sort of panicked myself I think. It was…Victor, that was scary, to be honest. I’ve never seen you like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, one last tear making its way out of his eye and over Benji’s hand.

“No, no, don’t be. It’s not your fault. We were _both_ caught off guard. I mean, it’s good to know for the future, right? And you can bring it up in therapy, too.”

Victor looks down, away from Benji. “I haven’t told my therapist about New York yet.”

“Victor,” Benji says, his tone a bit chastising. “You have to tell her what you saw.”

“I will,” he insists. “Eventually. But I’m not sure if there’ll be legal shit to deal with if I tell her and I just—I can’t deal with that right now on top of everything else, okay? But I’ll tell her eventually. _Soon_ ,” he amends.

Beni eyes him suspiciously. “I do believe you, but I think it needs to be be sooner rather than later.”

“Okay,” Victor says, then grabs the sheet and slides his legs under it. “Um. I know I was pretty sure earlier that I didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with you, but…” He looks to Benji, who nods solemnly. “Is it okay? I don’t think I can be alone right now. I mean, I want to be with _you_.”

“Of course, Victor,” Benjis says, much to his relief. The light is already off, the night a deep aqua blue from the moon off the ocean, shadows and shapes all swimming around, a school of fish along the walls.

Benji lifts the sheet over himself as well, cuddling up behind Victor and wrapping his arms around Victor’s chest. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“I’m sure,” Victor whispers, and he’s transported back to a night not so long ago, forever ago, when Benji had showed up at the door, told Victor he thought it would be a waste not to fall asleep beside him. And though there are still explosives going off somewhere deep in Victor’s head, muffled by gray matter and the sound of Benji’s breathing, he knows that everything will be okay as long as Benji doesn’t let go.

And he won’t. Victor knows that now. He thinks Benji might never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this monster of a chapter, it was one of my favorites so far to write despite how long it took me!! Also, there is definitely a point during the drive when it feels like you might be missing something. This is intentional. >:) <3
> 
> Anyway, I would love to hear your comments and thoughts on where Venji are in their relationship now!!
> 
> Only 2 chapters to go, that's so wild ;-;


	19. Zenith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ZENITH; _n_. — a highest point or state; culmination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi!! Damn, it's really been over a month since the last chapter. Big oops on my part! I was pretty busy with the end of my first semester of grad school and I've been using a lot of my time off to work on original work, but this has definitely been on my radar and I'm so excited to be posting the penultimate chapter AHH!! I hope you all enjoy and I so look forward to hearing your thoughts <3

Victor blinks sunlight out of his eyes. For a moment his body tenses, every fiber reliving a similar memory, a false memory, of waking beside Benji engulfed by a golden glow in the hospital.

He sucks in a sharp breath. This is real. Not just a dream, not just the manifestation of wishful thinking. It’s real.

Benji’s arms are still around him. Through the whole night, his arms kept Victor pinned to his own body, grounded. His breathing is deep and even. Victor rests in Benji’s arms, his ears rejoicing in the sound of Benji existing beside him.

From their tangled position on the bed he can see the sun piercing the horizon, blinding shafts of sunlight already slanting off the ocean.

Victor rotates, careful as he can, not wanting to wake Benji. His arms tighten around Victor as he curls closer to Benji’s body; he presses his face to Benji’s chest and breathes him in, the scent of the beach and body wash and _Benji_ , a smell he wishes he could bottle and keep all to himself.

“Mm, good morning,” Benji mumbles and makes a little smacking noise with his mouth.

Victor giggles. “Morning. Sorry I woke you.”

“S’okay,” Benji says around a yawn. “How did you sleep?”

He does a quick diagnostic. Though he’s cozy and comfortable, he doesn’t feel particularly tired. Well rested. “Pretty good, all things considered.”

“That’s good,” Beni says. His voice is gravel and goldenrod, a potent mixture of things that makes Victor’s heart flip. “I really do think I just sleep better when you’re with me.”

Victor can’t see Benji’s face but he can _hear_ his giddy smile. “I think so, too.” Silence alights between them, slithering between their bodies and settling downy and familiar. They don’t move or speak for several minutes, the distant sound of waves lulling them into some kind of trance.

“So, about last night,” Victor finally says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Benji blows a short breath through his nose then kisses the crown of Victor’s head. “Do _you_ want to talk about it? I think that’s the more important question.”

He shrugs and Benji’s arms tighten around him for a moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had a lot of time to process it, we fell asleep right after…”

“If you want to talk it through, I can just listen.”

“Yeah?”

“Always. I’ll always listen.”

Victor nods and readjusts himself. He has several inches on Benji, but being tucked up in his arms makes Victor feel small. Not in a bad sense; he feels like Benji is the world, or as big as it, enough to protect him from whatever may unfold.

“I really wasn’t expecting it,” he says, laughing in spite of himself. _A bit of an understatement_ , he thinks. “And it’s making me look at what happened in a whole new light. I mean, of course I was upset about it already. It was horrible. But I didn’t realize how much it would follow me around, I guess. It feels unfair, and then I feel guilty for feeling that way, because I only _witnessed_ what happened, you know?”

He pauses. Benji hums and gently tugs on a strand of Victor’s hair, twirling it between the pads of his fingers.

“What I really have to deal with is that all of these feelings are real,” he decides, running his fingers up and down Benji’s sternum. “They all exist and whether or not I like them or think they’re… _right_ , or whatever, they’re all feelings I have, and that’s okay. Right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Benji hums. “I think that’s exactly right. Your therapist would be proud.”

Victor rolls his eyes and swats Benji’s chest. “Shut up.”

“No, I was being serious,” Benji says, grinning with pride. “I think that’s a really mature way of looking at it. I mean, Victor, what happened was _traumatic_. And it’s not a competition. In a lot of things in life, there’s not just one victim. Things reach and affect people in unpredictable ways.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he murmurs. He pushes away slightly so he can look at Benji. “You’ve got some pretty funky bedhead going on.”

Benji laughs, his head tilting back. Victor leans forward and kisses him quickly on the neck, then laughs along, collapsing into Benji, their bodies bouncing together, too much joy to contain.

* * *

“Yes, _Mami_ , we’re on our way back now,” Victor says into the phone. They’ve only just buckled themselves into the car, all chattering and excited despite the departure from the beach. “Just like the way down, about four hours,” he says and rolls his eyes to Benji, who stifles a laugh.

“Just be safe, yes?”

“I’m not even the one driving!”

“Then tell Simon I say drive safe, please,” she singsongs.

Victor sighs. “I will.”

“Oh! One last thing. I was doing some thinking, and I know you’ll be back just around dinnertime. Do you think Benji would like to join us?”

He sits, stunned as the car starts and Simon backs out of the driveway. “Um. I’ll have to check with him. He might have other plans already.”

“That’s fine! I just wanted to put the invitation out there,” his mother says. She sounds casual, breezy, but Victor knows internally she’s all tensed up. Meeting— _really_ meeting—Victor’s first boyfriend isn’t exactly a normal Saturday evening. “Why don’t the two of you talk about it and you let me know as soon as you have an answer,” she says, some of her emotion slipping through in her tone.

“Sure, I’ll do that,” Victor says. Benji is giving him a curious look; Victor just nods as if to say _I’ll explain in a second_. “See you later. Love you, too. Adiós.”

He hangs up the phone and exhales.

“Everything okay?” Benji asks.

In the front seat, Simon and Bram are bickering about which route will get them home quickest, so their attention is elsewhere.

“Everything’s great!” Victor says, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. “Here’s the thing. My mom just invited you over for dinner.”

“Oh!” Benji says. “When?”

“Tonight? Right when we get back?”

Benji purses his lips. “Wow, okay, um. Wow!”

“I don’t know if you had anything else planned for tonight, and you’ll probably have to check with your parents so if it’s too much to make it a whole thing—”

“Victor,” Benji says, grabbing his hand and chuckling. “No, I don’t have anything else planned. I would love to have dinner with you and your family.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he says. He lifts Victor’s hand to his face and presses his lips to Victor’s middle knuckle. “Technically I’ve already met your mom, right? So that pressure is off.”

“Who’s meeting _whomst_?” Bram asks and turns around in his seat.

Benji laughs and pats Victor’s hand, then sets it down. “Mrs. Salazar just invited me to dinner tonight.”

“Oooooh!”

“But I was saying it actually _won’t_ be the first time I’m meeting her,” Benji says before Bram can get too excited.

Victor smiles, though he’s panicking a bit inside. He can’t quite put his finger on what it is that’s making his nerves rock back and forth. Maybe it’s a product of little things. He knows his family can be a lot when it comes to bringing people home, _especially_ his mother. This whole being gay thing is still pretty new as well, and though Benji definitely has met his mother before, it was never like this. It might as well be the first time.

“That’s still exciting though,” Simon says.

“And so romantic,” Bram coos, draping himself over the middle console with his hand pressed to his forehead. “The _drama_ , the impromptu invitation!”

“It’s not _that_ dramatic,” Victor says. “Plus, I bet my mom has been cooking this up since she heard about the trip.”

Bram sits up, his mouth a perfect ‘o.’ “Then that means she purposefully waited to tell you until this moment,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows. “If anything, that’s even _more—_ ”

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Simon says loudly to cut off Bram. “He’s been on a weird soap opera binge. Not enough to do in the summer, I guess,” he says with a chuckle.

“Binging _You and Me and Us and Them_ is a perfectly valid use of my time, thank you very much,” Bram says with dignity as he repositions himself.

Benji snorts. “Isn’t that, like, the worst rated soap opera of all time?”

“Yes,” Bram says lovingly. “I’m obsessed.”

Simon rolls his eyes and cranks up the volume on the stereo, the crackly sound of music from the radio filling the air.

Bram starts to sing along to Gloria by Laura Branigan and Simon drums his hands on the wheel, which gives them a bit of privacy in the backseat. Benji looks to Victor and leans in. “It’s okay with you, right? I mean, that’s why you asked?”

“Of course it is,” Victor says. He swallows. “I just…I know my mom, and she has the tendency to be a little bit extra when it comes to things like this.”

“She’s not gonna scare me off, Vic,” Benji says, tilting his head with a grin. “A wise man once said, ‘He’s too good a guy to walk away from.’ That street goes both ways, you know?”

Victor’s breath catches. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Benji says. He kisses Victor on the cheek and leans back to his side of the backseat. “I remember everything.”

* * *

“And you’re absolutely sure we can’t pay you for gas?” Benji asks one last time as they pull up to Victor’s building.

Simon turns off the car and waves his hand. “Benji, you just let us stay in a gorgeous beachfront property for _free_. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Benji grumbles, putting his wallet away.

Victor smiles and pats his shoulder. “If you really have to pay somebody, pay me.”

“For what?” Benji asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“I don’t know…boyfriend fee?”

Benji rolls his eyes, then pulls out a one dollar bill, crumples it up, and throws it at Victor with a laugh. “Get yourself something special,” he says as he opens his car door.

Victor pockets the bill and looks up at his home, a weight settling gentle on his shoulders. He follows Benji out the door.

Bram is already behind the car pulling their bags out of the trunk.

“So, we’ll definitely see you two tomorrow, right?” Simon asks.

Right, the carnival. Victor had almost forgotten with this dinner looming over him. “Definitely,” he says. “We’ll all be there!”

“Great! Hey, make sure to let us know when the others get home, all right?”

Mia and her car had stopped for fast food on the way back up, so they’re about half an hour behind. They’ve been keeping each other updated in their group chat—newly named “Creekwood Mac,” at Victor’s insistence—but it’s a bit strange to have started the trip together but have ended it separately.

“Of course,” Victor says. Bram hands him his bag. “Thanks again for driving. My mom will be incredibly appreciative that you got us there and back in one piece.”

“Yes she will be!”

Victor jumps as his mother’s voice carries into the street. When he turns, she’s bustling out the front door and down the steps.

“Ma, what are you doing?” Victor hisses.

She gives him a little frown and waves him off. “I wanted to meet your friends. You know, we probably should have done this _before_ the trip, now that I think about it.” She pauses for a second, her features scrunched and hands on her hips. “Ah! Oh well. So, you must be Bram?”

Bram grins at her. “That’s me.”

“And Simon!”

“Hi, Mrs. Salazar.”

“And Benji, of course.”

Benji waves but says nothing, just inches closer to Victor.

“Simon, I just have to thank you for being so responsible and taking care of everyone. I know, I know, you all probably feel so grown up, but you’ll always be kids to me!” she says with a laugh.

Simon laughs with her. “It was my pleasure, really. We had such a great day. I’m sure Victor will tell you all about it.”

“Oh, he most certainly will,” she says and wraps one arm around his waist, giving him a squeeze. “How long are the two of you in town for?”

“Just until Monday. The real reason we came back was actually for the carnival.”

“Ah, the carnival,” she says. “Lots of memories, right?”

Bram blinks at her. “So you…do you know about that?”

“I’ve spoken to Ms. Albright a few times—”

“Oh, enough said,” Bram says with a grin.

Victor’s face is on fire. _Why did she have to do this_?

“Well, I should let you two go. It’s dinner time for us, anyway. Really, thank you again. For this and everything you’ve done for Victor,” his mother says, her tone a bit more serious. He hasn’t even told her the full extent of Simon’s role in his life, but she’s heard enough to know that it’s more than Victor could’ve ever asked. “Just, really, I’m so appreciative.”

“Mom,” Victor groans.

She glares at him. “Let me thank the boy!”

Simon chuckles. “Victor’s really special, Mrs. Salazar. You’re raising a really good kid.”

He wants to melt into the ground and disappear. He looks to Benji, who’s grinning at him a bit mischievously.

“I think so too,” she says and kisses Victor on the temple. “Good night, it was so nice to meet you!” she says as Simon and Bram get back in the car. She sighs and looks at Victor. “They seem like wonderful boys.”

“They are,” Benji agrees.

She turns her attention to him. “Ah! Benji, we are _so_ excited that you could join us! Come, let’s go inside,” she says, ushering them into the building.

Victor gives Benji an apologetic look, but he just shrugs and flashes Victor a smile.

* * *

“And he was _completely_ covered, head to toe,” his mother is saying through her laughter. “Wearing a white shirt, no less!”

Victor’s forehead thunks against the table. This is the third embarrassing story from his childhood she’s told: the time he tried to teach himself to pour his own drink and dumped a whole bottle of cranberry juice on himself. And of course, this is following the story of the time he accidentally tied his shoes to a fence (while they were still on his feet) and the time he fell asleep while doing dishes and woke up with his face in the sink.

“ _Mami_ ,” Victor groans against the tablecloth.

Benji is giggling; he reaches over and pats Victor’s arm.

“Seriously, Mom, he’s about to, like, pass away from embarrassment,” Pilar says, but he can hear the amusement in her voice.

“What?” she says defensively. “Come on, have a sense of humor, _mi amor_. They’re cute stories!”

Victor just groans again.

Up until Pilar cleared their plates, everything had actually been going well. Though his mother did ask Benji a lot of questions, it never seemed like an interrogation. More like genuine curiosity. And of course Benji was the perfect picture of manners and politeness, answering all of the questions, saying please and thank you, commenting on how lovely their home is. But then again, Benji wasn’t ever the one Victor was worried about.

Now as they wait for dessert to come out of the oven (because his mother had insisted on making cookies), she’s decided that it’s time to humiliate Victor in front of his boyfriend.

“What about when Victor went to school with his pants on backwards!” Adrian says, his voice a gleeful shriek.

“Nooo,” he moans, lifting his head slightly and letting it come back down with a _thunk_.

Pilar slaps her hand over her mouth. “I forgot about that,” she says, voice distorted by her fingers.

“We only tease because we love each other,” his mother says. The oven timer goes off and she pushes away from the table to take out the cookies.

Benji pulls at Victor’s shoulder so he’ll sit up. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Maybe not for you,” Victor pouts.

“The stories really are cute, Vic,” Benji says, reaching under the table to slip his hand into Victor’s.

“Oh, just wait,” Pilar says. “We’ve only scratched the surface.”

“No more stories tonight!” Victor insists. “None about me, at least. If we want to tell stories, we can tell Benji about the time Pilar fell into a toilet and got stuck.”

Adrian lets out a peal of high laughter and Pilar’s expression snaps to something dangerous. “Do _not_.”

Benji makes an admirable attempt to hide his laughter. “We all did stupid stuff when we were kids.”

“Oh, no, this was just last summer,” Victor says, which causes Adrian to lose his mind completely. Pilar just crosses her arms and sinks down into her chair. Victor looks at her and sticks his tongue out; in return, she kicks him under the table.

“Victor, Pilar, please behave!” their mother calls half-heartedly from the kitchen as she transfers the cookies onto a rack to cool.

Victor gives Benji a sheepish smile and squeezes his hand. He looks across the table, where Adrian is still giggling and Pilar is looking off, beyond pissed. “This is pretty typical of a Salazar dinner,” he admits.

“I love it,” Benji says, squeezing his hand back. “Much more fun than my family’s dinners.”

“Just give them a few minutes to cool, then we can dig in!” Victor’s mother rejoins them, brushing off her hands and giving Benji a warm smile. “Are you ready for your senior year?” she asks. “Such an exciting time!”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Benji says. He pulls away from Victor and folds his hands in his lap. “It’s a little bit scary, I guess, and I can’t believe it went so fast.”

“Top dogs, though,” she says and crosses her legs, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t waste it! Next year you’ll be a measly freshman again.”

Pilar scoffs. “Are you saying he should bully people?”

“ _Pilar_. No, of course that’s not what I’m saying. But seniors do get certain privileges, after all. People respect you. You’ve done your time, you know? Everybody will get their chance, and this is yours.”

“I guess that’s true,” Benji says, smiling self-consciously. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”

She hums and takes a sip of her water. “My advice? Don’t wait for it to feel real to really start living it. It’s all real and it’s all here, _mi_ _amor_. You just have to go for it.”

Victor’s heart flips at this; beside him, he can feel Benji shift slightly. His mother doesn’t quite seem to realize what she’s said, so she just smiles and takes another sip of water.

Her sentiment waltzes around Victor’s head. Nothing with Benji has _ever_ felt real, and he thinks it’s possible it never will. Every moment, every touch and glance…It’s all surreal, impossible, and yet here he is with his family and Benji and they’re sitting around the table and chatting between courses like it’s nothing. It’s not real, but he’s still living it.

“Do you mind if I use your restroom?” Benji asks; Victor can see that his cheeks are a bit pink, but if his mother notices she doesn’t give any indication.

“Of course! Just down the hall there,” she says and points.

Benji nods and excuses himself.

Once the sound of the bathroom door shutting clicks through the apartment, he turns to his mother.

“Are you crazy?”

She frowns at him. “Excuse me?”

“The first time he’s eating with us and you’re already throwing around the Spanish pet names?”

She gasps. “Did I? _Dios mío_ , I didn’t even realize.”

“Good going,” Pilar mutters. “You’ve never exactly won any prizes for subtlety.”

“Well, in my defense, Benji is just _such_ a lovely guest,” she says, clutching her glass to her chest. “Really, Victor, he’s a very charming young man. And he seems so comfortable around you.”

His ears go hot. “Do we have to do this?”

“Do what? I’m saying nice things about the boy you’re dating, that’s all!”

“Yeah, but…”

She raises her eyebrows and waves a hand around. “I get it, you’re a teenager, you have to be embarrassed by your mother. It’s one of the rules. All I’m saying is that I think the two of you are very good for each other. And I’ll leave it at that!” she says before Victor can protest again.

“You never said any of this about Eric,” Pilar grumbles.

“And what did we learn about Eric?”

She sinks further down in her seat. “That he’s the scum of the earth.”

“Exactly! _La intuición de la madre_. It’s basically a superpower.”

“Can you turn invisible, too?” Adrian asks.

She laughs and stands again, kisses his forehead as she passes. “No, but I do have eyes everywhere, which is close enough.”

The bathroom door opens down the hallway and Victor clears his throat, hoping the signs of blush have mostly departed. He grins at Benji when he comes back into the room and takes his seat.

“You okay?” Victor whispers.

Benji just tilts his head. “Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. Later,” Victor says as his mother returns with a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies.

And then all of his worries are gone for a few minutes, because how can you be worried about anything when there’s a warm cookie in your hand and your forever person by your side?

* * *

“Hey,” Victor says as the door closes behind them, the night cool and dry.

Benji ducks his head and smiles. “Hey.”

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Victor says, his mouth a bit dry. “I don’t know if you could tell, but it was actually sort of a big deal for me.”

“Oh, was it?” Benji jokes, bumping his shoulder into Victor’s before they sit on the steps to wait for Benji’s mom to pick him up. “Your mom is a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to _live_ with her though,” Victor says, laughing as he plops down beside Benji. “Listen, about what she said…”

Benji frowns, then his eyes widen when he remembers what Victor is talking about. “It caught me off guard a little, I think. And then I was like, wondering if it was super casual and I was overreacting because I didn’t know if it was a big deal or what,” he babbles.

Victor laughs, his nerves getting the better of him. “I mean, people do use pet names like that for different reasons I guess. But yeah, after you went to the bathroom she told me she didn’t even realize she said it.”

“Well, no harm done,” Benji says, resting his head on Victor’s shoulder. A firefly hovers by, winking at them. “Somehow it felt…right? I don’t know, I was a little surprised but also relieved.”

“She’s definitely come a long way since the beginning of the summer,” Victor says, his cheek against the top of Benji’s head. “I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on her. She’s really trying.”

Benji snakes his arm behind Victor’s back, then gives his side a light pinch before resting his hand there. “Plus, moms are just kinda like that,” he says, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “I think it’s in the mom rulebook or something.”

Victor chuckles. “It’s funny, she said the same thing about me. That it’s a rule for teenagers to be embarrassed by their moms.”

A car turns onto Victor’s street and sidles up to the curb. The horn honks three times.

“Speaking of being embarrassed by moms,” Benji says as he pushes to his feet.

The passenger side window rolls down. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Benji’s mother calls to them.

“God,” he says, mortified, and turns to Victor. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“I might text back.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up,” Victor says, poking Benji in the stomach. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Benji nods and moonlight perches on his eyelashes, washing his face in cosmic light, and Victor so desperately wants to lean down and kiss Benji, kiss him until the moon has to turn away from how bright they burn when they’re folded together.

But Benji’s mom is watching too, and while Victor would be more than okay with allowing the moon to eavesdrop, Mrs. Campbell is a different story. Instead, he pulls Benji into a quick hug. “I’ll miss you,” he whispers.

Benji chuckles through his nose. “Can you make it through one day without seeing me? Not even a full day?”

 _I hope that someday, I’ll never have to_. “Of course I can,” Victor says as he pulls away, rolling his eyes to cover up the fact that they’re glassy. “Let me walk you.”

“Down this very long set of stairs?” Benji says, taking the final two stairs to the sidewalk.

Victor huffs and follows him down.

“Hi, Victor,” Mrs. Campbell says from the driver’s seat. It’s definitely a much lighter situation than the one in which they first met, but there’s still something guarded in her voice. “Make sure to thank your mother for me, all right?”

“Of course, Mrs. Campbell,” Victor says as Benji opens his door and hops in. “Have a great night!”

“Same to you,” she says, her measured grin lit up by the light of her car.

Benji gives him one last smile before she shifts the car into drive and pulls off into the night.

Victor sighs and sticks his hands in his pockets, watching the car as it crawls away. Saying goodbye to Benji hasn’t become any easier. He doesn’t suspect it ever will.

* * *

Excitement buzzes through him, electric and potent. Simon has offered to come pick Victor up to bring him to the carnival with Bram, so he’s pacing up and down the sidewalk outside his house, anticipation chewing through him.

The last carnival he’d attended had been…Well, it hadn’t been _bad_ necessarily. It’s where everything started with Mia, after all, and though that particular road has been treacherous at times it’s landed them in a much better place.

While he waits for Simon and Bram, he wonders what might have happened if he’d just had the courage that night, just ten seconds of insane courage, to walk up to Benji with those tickets and ask him to ride the Ferris wheel. Realistically Benji would’ve turned him down of course; he was still with Derek at the time. But if he pretends Derek doesn’t exist (which is Victor’s typical mode of thinking, if he’s honest) then he can picture himself and Benji up above the lights, pressed together in the cold, all of his truth raining down on Shady Creek.

But things don’t quite work like that in real life. He’s learned that the hard way over the past few months. Simon and Bram are the exception, not the rule. But Victor’s made peace with it; though Benji and he didn’t get to have their magical moment in front of the world, they’ve made plenty of magic in the minutiae, in the dancing of fingers and lips pressed to cheeks and legs tangled in sheets. It’s romance in the purest sense, romance of the minute, the second.

“All good, Victor?”

He startles, Simon’s voice wrenching him from reverie. “Hey!” he says, laughing at himself. “Yeah, let’s do this!”

Victor practically dives into Simon’s backseat. And they’re off.

* * *

“So. It’s exactly the same,” Victor says, his hands on his hips as he looks around.

Simon grins at him. “It sure is. That’s what makes it so great.”

While the overall wardrobe choices have changed—lots of rompers, cutoff tees, crop tops and high waisted shorts—all of the booths and attractions are exactly as Victor remembers them from the Winter Carnival.

“It’s good to have a constant,” Bram says, bringing a hand down on Victor’s shoulder. “Change is important, but without staples like the carnival, it’s a lot harder to look back and actually _see_ the things that are different.”

Victor smiles at him. Hadn’t he just earlier been thinking about how things have shifted since the previous carnival? “Good point.”

He sucks in a breath when a pair of hands covers his eyes. “Guess who,” Benji says.

“You’re supposed to change your voice or something so I don’t know right away,” Victor says, laughing too hard to even supply a guess. The hands retract and he turns to find his boyfriend glaring at him playfully.

“You’d be terrible at improv, but I do like that you can recognize my voice so easily,” Benji says. He’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt with an adorable cartoon creature and the words “Mothman is my boyfriend.”

Victor’s jaw drops. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, this?” Benji asks, coy. “Don’t worry, he’s in the past. I have a new boyfriend now.”

“And what’s his name?”

“Bigfoot,” Benji says and loops his arm through Victor’s.

Victor frowns as Simon and Bram laugh, the sounds carrying up through the air and merging with the festive melody that emanates from the fairgrounds.

They find their friends inside; Felix and Andrew seem to be in a heated discussion about something while Mia and Lake stand by and watch them go back and forth.

“What’s all this about?” Victor asks as they approach.

Mia sighs. “Andrew told Felix that there was no way Felix could ever get a higher score than him on that stupid strong man game,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder.

“Felix swears that it’s all about getting the angle right and has nothing to do with actual muscles,” Lake says and places a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

“Yeah, let me just break this up—”

“No no, let them,” Lake says, her eyes never leaving the boys.

Mia narrows her eyes. “You’re not serious.”

“It’s hot when they argue, shut up.”

Victor turns to his boyfriend. “Wanna go throw in your two cents?”

Benji cackles and smacks Victor on the butt. “You wish. I’m good.”

“God, I miss high school sometimes,” Bram says.

Finally, Andrew and Felix have come to some kind of agreement and rejoin the group, everybody saying their hellos.

“So?” Lake asks, waving her popcorn bag and spilling some of the kernels in the grass.

Felix sighs and swings his arms back and forth. “We decided the easiest way to see who’s right is just to play the game.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” Andrew supplies.

“Yes, thank you, Andy,” Felix says and pats him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you lead the way?”

Victor chuckles; since when does Felix call him _Andy_? Andrew puffs up his chest and strides toward the game.

Meanwhile, Felix pulls Victor aside, frantic. “You’ve gotta help me here. There’s no way I can actually beat him.”

“I—Then what was all of that arguing about?”

“I don’t know! He just has this way of getting me all riled up!” Felix hisses.

Victor laughs and pumps a hand in the air to calm Felix down. “Okay, okay, just breathe. So? Maybe he wins. Then what?”

“Then he gets my locker.”

“Felix. You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did,” he says, comically solemn.

Off behind them, there’s a crash and a _ding_ , which can only indicate that Andrew has hit the paddle hard enough to ring the bell.

“ _Shit_ ,” Felix breathes. “That top locker was the only thing I had going for me.”

Victor blinks at him. “Maybe you can tie?”

“Victor. Sweet, naive Victor. You see these arms? Pencils. Uncooked spaghetti noodles—no, angel hair. I’m not getting that puck to ring that bell.”

Simon approaches them and claps Felix on the back. “You’re up.”

“Felix! Honey! Your turn!” Lake calls from the game.

“Please help me,” Felix begs Victor as Lake trots over and drags him toward the booth, leaving Victor to reunite with Benji and join everybody to see what happens.

Felix picks up the comically oversized mallet. Andrew is beside him, arms crossed. “Let’s go, Weston, time to face the music.”

“You’re gonna eat your words,” Felix says.

Victor snorts and hides his face in Benji’s shoulder; Felix is shit talking right until the bitter end.

He raises the hammer and everybody in the vicinity goes absolutely still. There’s a second where Victor really thinks he’s going to do it, he’s going to pull it off!

And then the hammer hits the paddle and the puck doesn’t even fly halfway up.

Silence falls around them. Andrew steps closer to Felix and claps him on the back. “You can tell me the combo on Tuesday morning during homeroom, buddy.”

Felix’s eyes are trained on the ground. Lake approaches him with caution.

“Sweetie? You okay?” she asks with forced cheer.

Felix just shakes his head, still looking at the ground. “There was this part of me that really thought I was gonna pull it off somehow.”

“I know, I know,” Lake says, patting his cheek.

“Well, sure looks like I missed a lot,” comes a cool voice from behind them.

Victor whips around and sees a familiar face, but he can’t instantly place the name.

Benji lunges at her and wraps her in a hug. “Lucy!” he yells.

She hugs him back and laughs, giving him a good pat before pushing him away. “Good to see you too, B.” She peers around Benji and smiles at Victor. “Hey,” she says casually, raising a hand in greeting.

Victor steps over to them, a bit nervous. Lucy is the only friend Benji has really told him of, aside from his bandmates, so it’s almost surreal finally meeting her. “Hey,” he echoes.

She looks him up and down and smirks at Benji. “Yup. I get it.”

“Get what?” Victor and Benji say in tandem.

“This one hasn’t shut up about you _all summer_ ,” she says with an exaggerated eye roll. “Victor this, Victor that, Victor broke my heart but he’s all I can think about, was wah.”

“Oh my god,” Benji says and buries his face in his hands. “She’s lying.”

Victor chuckles. “No, I believe her.”

“He’s already jumped ship,” Benji moans.

“Hey, all is not lost,” Victor says and bumps Benji with his hip. “If it makes you feel any better, I pretty much only thought about you all summer. I just didn’t have anybody to talk to about it.”

Benji’s head pops up. “You did?”

“Of course I did.”

“Okay, I love this moment for the two of you, I really do, but Jesus. I’m gonna go get a lemonade to wash down all of this fluffy bullshit.”

Benji laughs as Lucy pushes past and gives him a little squeeze on the shoulder. “Love you!” he calls.

“Love you!” she calls back, and then she slips into the crowd.

“Wow,” Victor says, laughter still bubbling up out of him. “She’s great.”

Benji grins and wraps his arm around Victor’s waist. “Yeah, she’s the worst. Gotta love her. Maybe we’ll meet up with her again later. So, what now?”

Victor looks around; their friends have moved on, probably to go play games. Victor knows Felix has been begging Lake to win him a giant stuffed manatee since he found out one of the booths has them. In the distance the Ferris wheel looms. Victor studies it, then brings his eyes back forward, catching Simon’s gaze as he does. Simon gives him a knowing smile, but Victor just shrugs.

“How about bumper cars?”

“That sounds good to me,” Benji says. He takes Victor’s hand.

As they walk through the carnival, Victor doesn’t even think about the fact that everybody can see them together, that how they feel about each other is on full display, out in the open, no more secrets. He won’t think about it until much later, when he’s alone in bed and thinking about the hell this summer has been, and he’ll think about this incredible feeling that comes so naturally, so inevitably, that feels just like falling asleep.

* * *

The next few hours pass in a blur, in some moments literally so (Victor can thank the tilt-a-whirl for that). They get on rides, share a large cone of pink and blue cotton candy, fail miserably at a ring toss game, and even sneak behind one of the booths for a few private minutes to make out, the taste of sugar still on their lips and laughter in their throats.

They see their friends in bursts, sometimes while waiting in a line, other times just while walking, in passing. The night is total chaos and it’s everything Victor needs, his body taking him wherever it needs next to go.

And all the while, Benji never leaves his side.

Victor wonders if this is the real magic, the reason all of the colors and smells and sounds seem brighter, stronger, more musical. Benji’s hands always manages to find his, Benji’s laugh never fails to lift him off the ground. He reconsiders his mother’s words from the previous evening about living, about the surreal. He’s balancing on the edge of something impossible, of someone who could be his future, who he _wants_ to be his future, and nothing about it can be his life. He must be dreaming.

_What did I do to deserve this?_

And then there are moments he remembers the time they spent apart, the blazing, aching nights alone, reaching into himself, an empty well with nothing left to give and still managing to find a drop of himself to spare.

So maybe he _has_ earned this. Maybe they’ve earned each other, and maybe it’s only because of how much they struggled that this reality was allowed to become.

Whatever the case may be, his well has never felt more full.

This is why he’s so caught off guard when he’s standing in line with Benji later in the night after things have cleared out considerably, waiting to buy snow cones, and off in the distance he makes eye contact with Gabe.

Victor almost falls over—literally, he trips over his own foot and almost stumbles. Benji catches him and stands him up straight, giving him a funny look.

“You good?”

Victor cranes his neck and looks back at the spot where Gabe had been, hiding between two booths that are already closed until the next carnival. He’s still there, and when he meets Victor’s gaze his eyes nearly pop out of his head. Gabe turns and disappears between the booths.

“I’ll be right back,” Victor says quickly to Benji, pressing a hand briefly to his boyfriend’s chest as he runs off.

“Wait, Victor, where are you going?”

“Just stay right there!” he calls over his shoulder.

His heart spasms again his ribs when he finds where Gabe had been standing, peering down the little alley that the booths form. Gabe is nowhere to be found but Victor squeezes between them and side-steps his way through, determined not to lose the other boy.

Victor’s mind is virtually smoking as he moves, questions and emotions colliding and sending off sparks.

He emerges on the other side of the booths, but there’s nothing back here in the half-light aside from some expensive looking equipment. Victor trains his eyes back and forth, because it seems to him that there’s nowhere to _go_ back here. It’s as if Gabe just…vanished.

“Uh,” he breathes, then clears his throat. “Gabe? Are you back here?” he tries, knowing even as the words leave his lips that it’s no use.

Sure enough, a profound silence is the only response.

He curses under his breath and crouches, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. Is he losing it? Maybe too much sugar from the cotton candy, or something about his brain chemistry got fucked up when Mia rear-ended him on the bumper cars.

Victor rises, his hands a bit shaky, and inches back between the booths, wondering if all his marbles are gone for good. Just for good measure, once he makes it back to the main path he decides to walk around the corner to see if Gabe somehow managed to slip out that way, even though it seemed impossible from the other side.

Briskly, he steps around the structures, around the corner, and—

Victor runs headfirst into his father.

His first instinct is to run. The echo of a blow to his face pulses behind his eye and he staggers backward, his throat dry and tight. “ _Papi_?” he manages to choke out.

“Shit. Victor, I…”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

His father looks around; it’s already gotten late, most of the families with younger children are long gone, leaving mostly Creekwood students wandering the carnival. He scrubs a hand across his face and turns away from Victor, then turns back. “Victor, could we maybe go somewhere and talk?” he asks in a whisper.

“What? No,” Victor says, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “No.”

Giving Victor an apologetic look, he raises his hands. “Okay, of course. I just—I wanted to apologize to you, Victor.”

He blinks at his father, all of his muscles begging him to turn and run. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I see now that it was stupid to come here, but I just had a feeling you would be here, and…Is _Mami_ here? Pilar and Adrian?”

“I’m here with my friends,” Victor says and shakes his head. He takes another step back.

“Okay,” his father repeats. “Before I leave, I just wanted to say this. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on what happened between us at the end. I really want to put it behind us. And I don’t know if we can be a family again, especially not right away, but you _are_ my son, and I just can’t stand having this thing between us. I’m willing to forgive you, and I hope you can come to forgive me.”

Victor scoffs and takes another step back, almost stumbling over something behind his foot. “You’re willing to forgive _me_?”

“Well, we really got into it that last night,” his father says, already getting defensive.

“That is so not what happened,” Victor says through clenched teeth. He’s vibrating with rage, with fear. “I was defending myself, my family.”

His father huffs and raises a hand to his hair, turning in a circle. “You think you know everything, don’t you? That you know better than I do? I was trying to _protect_ you, Victor. Everything I did was for your own good.”

“Protect me? From what?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” his father says, pointing a finger at Victor and taking a step forward.

Victor steps back in return and does trip now, falling backward onto his elbows. Pain shoots up through his arms and lodges in his shoulders.

“Think of your grandparents, Victor, think of what happened at your party. You know how they are! All I could think of was how they might react if they found out. I was protecting you,” he repeats, he insists.

Victor shakes his head and crawls backward, terrified at the vision of his father towering over him, not even caring that he’s on the ground.

“Victor? What are you doing on the—oh fuck.” Benji’s voice carries across the pathway.

He almost breaks his neck with how fast he looks around to find him. Sure enough, Benji has just turned the corner. Both of the snow cones in his hand tumble to the ground and he rushes to Victor’s side and helps him up, then puts himself between Victor and his father.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Please then, explain, I’d love to hear it,” Benji says.

Victor shakes his head and moves Benji from in front of him, then with great purpose takes Benji’s hand in his and holds it there.

“ _Papi_ , you remember Benji. My boyfriend,” Victor says, and though his voice is trembling Benji is beside him, grounding him, and he has the strength to continue. “Last night he was in my apartment, having dinner with my family,” Victor says, and where ‘my’ once would have been ‘our’ is still a ragged wound on his soul. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and he’s made all of the horrible things that happened to me this summer worth all of the pain.”

Victor takes a deep breath. “You can’t just come to the carnival and _stalk_ me, then corner me and give me a bullshit apology—”

“I was not stalking you,” his father says, and his voice is low and even but Victor can hear the undercurrent of anger. “I wasn’t even sure you would be here. _You_ were the one who ran into _me_.”

“It sounds to me like you haven’t learned _anything_ , even after all of that time alone to think. You can’t just choose which parts of me you want to love. You don’t get to decide which parts are lovable. That’s not what a parent does, not what a _father_ does.”

“And who are you to be lecturing me on what it means to be a father?”

“Somebody who’s seen first hand all the things one can do wrong,” Victor says, no hesitation. Benji squeezes his hand. Victor is fairly sure Benji isn’t breathing, and neither is he.

His father looks back and forth between them. “I really thought we could make this right.”

“And that’s where you were wrong. There is no _we_. It’s you, _Papi_ , _you_ are the one who needs to make this right. Maybe you will someday. I still miss the way things used to be, and I think about it all the time, back before everything went to shit. Before you showed me who you really are, or maybe just before I was old enough to understand what it all meant. I’m not saying I never want you to be part of my life again. But if you can’t love me for everything I am, and if you can’t see what role you played and the damage you’ve done…” Victor trails off and shrugs, his eyes full of burning tears.

For a moment, neither of them says anything. A tear trickles out of his father’s eye which he wipes away with muted fury. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it and lifts his hand, as if to reach out, then lets it drop. Then he nods, nods again, and presses his lips together. “It was so good to see you,” he says, and it’s the first and last genuine thing he says to Victor on this night. He turns on his heel and takes off in the other direction. He does not look back.

Benji and Victor are completely still for a moment, music and heat hovering in the air around them.

“Victor,” Benji whispers.

Victor turns to him and wraps him in a hug as he starts to cry, contained, muffled sobs that feel more like lifesaving breaths. He’s glad for the relative emptiness of the fairgrounds and the privacy of their location as he cries into Benji’s shoulder, months and months of emotions soaking into the carnival grass.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against Benji’s. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Victor, that was the bravest thing I’ve seen in my fucking life,” Benji says with a little incredulous laugh.

“Some of those things I said about being a father…I know you and your dad—”

Benji cuts him off by kissing him quickly on the tip of his nose. “Stop that,” he pleads gently. “What you said was completely true and exactly what your dad needed to hear. He doesn’t have any right to show up like that and try to gaslight you into taking responsibility for his shitty parenting.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I promise. Fuck, you’re so brave,” Benji says with a chuckle and wipes a tear away from his own face. “I mean, I’ve always known you had courage, but that took something next level.”

“Thank you,” Victor sighs, wrapping his arms around Benji again. He’s warm and real and solid in his embrace. The snow cones sit off in the grass, dejected, already melted. Victor pouts. “And now I don’t even get to eat my snow cone.”

Benji laughs against his chest and pushes away. “We can go get more. We’ve got a couple of minutes, I think.”

“Um, yeah,” Victor says and looks at the ground, feeling guilty. “I was actually thinking that I might just ask my mom to come pick me up.”

“Oh. Oh my god, of course, yeah,” Benji says, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “I can already see what’s going on inside your head, Victor. I know it’s not fair what he did, but he sort of wrecked the mood. You have every right to call it a night. There’s always next time, right?”

Winter Carnival, maybe, but Victor jumps ahead a year, and maybe Benji is already off at college for the next Summer Carnival, and even though every moment feels like another tentative step toward forever, what if something happens between now and then and the path crumbles?

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Benji suggests, offering his hand.

Victor gives him a teary smile and takes it, using his other arm to wick the last of the moisture away. “I know I should leave, but part of me really doesn’t want to.”

Benji chuckles as they round the corner again. “The carnival is basically over anyway, Vic. We won’t be missing much.”

“We?”

“Well, I don’t want to be here if you aren’t.”

“What about Lucy?”

Benji sighs. “She dipped over an hour ago. She was hanging with some of her own friends, I think, but the carnival has never really been her thing.”

Many of the rides and lights are dimming out around them, the rich cacophony gradually fading into just a few overlapping cheery tunes.

Back on the main path, they run into Simon and Bram, also hand in hand, Simon’s head on Bram’s shoulder as they walk.

“Oh! Hey, you two!” Bram calls.

Simon perks up and waves to them. “We’ve been looking for you all over!”

Victor sniffles and clears his throat as they approach, hoping his eyes don’t look too puffy.

“Have a good night?” Simon asks, his voice a little dreamy.

Victor laughs. “For the most part it was amazing.”

“Amazing,” Bram echoes, clearly exhausted.

“I just remembered something.” Simon’s eyes widen and he reaches for his phone, gesturing for Victor to follow him as he leaves Bram’s side and steps off to the side.

“What is it?” Victor asks, his nerves already shot.

“Okay, so you’re probably gonna think I’m really morbid for this, and maybe this isn’t a great time to bring it up, but I really think you should hear it from me in person,” he says as he unlocks his phone and starts to scroll through.

Victor could pass out; he’s had quite enough excitement until next summer, he thinks. “What is it?”

“I’ve sort of been…keeping my eyes peeled on the local news in New York,” Simon starts, unable to look at Victor. “You know, after what happened that night.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I managed to find out the identity of the woman after an article was published about her in some obscure online paper. Her name is Mariana Williamson and—”

“Simon, I’m sorry, I really can’t right now,” Victor says, his mouth dry and his head spinning.

“Wait, just give me one second. I promise.” Simon grips Victor’s shoulders.

“O-okay,” Victor agrees and swallows.

“This is the morbid part, I guess. I’ve been checking out obituaries and stuff all summer, hoping maybe I’d be able to find her and…I don’t know, attend her service? Or something? I don’t really know what I was hoping would happen. Long story short, I never ended up finding anything, but I _did_ recently come into contact with her daughter, who works as a teacher in the city.” He pauses. “There’s a lot of details in between, but what’s important is this. Her daughter just sent me an email half an hour ago. Mariana isn’t dead.”

Victor freezes. “I—she’s not dead? But…” But what they witnessed feels like it couldn’t have ended any other away.

“She got extremely lucky and the bullet didn’t damage anything serious. She’s still recovering, but…Victor, she’s alive.”

“God,” Victor says, and he feels like he might pass out so he sits down in the grass, heels of his hands pressed firm to his forehead. “I can’t believe this.”

Simon crouches beside him, smiling, his eyes a bit shiny in the remaining carnival lights. “Isn’t this fantastic news?”

“Yeah,” Victor says and makes a sound between a laugh and a sob. And he realizes that this had been tugging him downward with a force he didn’t even recognize until it’s let up.

Because he felt _responsible_. He remembers, even in the moment, feeling like what happened was a turning point for him, like some kind of act of divinity that knocked his life back into place. And now it turns out what he believed isn’t even the truth, and he realizes how foolish it was to think that that moment was about him in any capacity.

“Are you going to be okay?” Simon asks quietly. Bram and Benji have sidled over to them, both looking concerned.

“Ask me in a couple of weeks,” Victor says. He plants his palms into the ground and pushes to his feet, and without another word he hugs Simon. “I’m so relieved.”

“Yeah. Me too, Vic. Me too.”

When Victor pulls away, Simon flashes him another smile. “There’s one more thing.”

“Oh, god,” Victor moans. He’s sure he won’t be able to survive another bombshell tonight.

Simon laughs. “No, no, this is _only_ good. I promise. Come on, this way,” he says and jerks his head toward the center of the carnival.

Victor frowns. “Isn’t everything about to close? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Simon says, reaching for Bram’s hand and pulling him along.

Benji kisses Victor, just a quick, chaste peck on the lips, then sticks a hand into one of Victor’s back pockets.

“Do _you_ know what the hell is happening?” Victor asks as they walk, trailing a few feet behind Simon and Bram.

Benji shrugs and some stragglers pass them, giving them strange looks. “No idea,” he murmurs.

The end of summer has delivered them another cool night, cool enough that Victor suddenly feels better now that Benji is pressed planate against his body.

They arrive at the very heart of the fairgrounds and Simon turns to them. “I pulled some strings. The two of you are really inspiring to me, you know that? I thought Bram and I went through some shit before we could finally just be together, but I see now that that was nothing compared to some of the things the two of you have faced together.”

“Simon, what did you do?” Victor asks. Almost all of the rides are turned off, all of the booths vacant, the carnival deserted save for some of the employees.

He grins at Victor then looks over his shoulder at the Ferris wheel, the only thing in the immediate vicinity still lit up. “If there are two people who deserve a capital ‘m’ Moment, it’s the two of you. Maybe it’s a little cheesy—”

“ _Very_ cheesy,” Bram cuts in, “and also a little self-celebratory,” he says, though he’s clearly joking. “Simon thinks we invented romance in Shady Creek or something.”

Simon laughs and kisses him. “It may be all of these things, but it’s now your moment to have and use however you want. Bram and I are gonna go wait in the car. We can drop you both off at home afterwards.”

“Wait, I’m still confused,” Victor says, looking between the glowing ring and Simon.

Benji chuckles beside him. “Vic, we get to ride the Ferris wheel. Alone.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Have fun and see you in a bit,” Simon says with a wink, and then him and Bram are off, which leaves just Victor, Benji, and the man operating the ride.

He smiles at the them and gestures to the hanging compartment. “I can only give you ten minutes, but hopefully that’s plenty.”

“Of course, thank you so much,” Victor says as they climb in, the bar tight against their laps.

Both of them remain silent as the ride rumbles to life, silent save for the sound of machinery, whirring gently as they start to rise through the sky.

“I…I can’t believe this,” Victor says, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief as they hit the top of the wheel the first time.

“I can’t either,” Benji says, gripping Victor’s hand in his. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“Um. No,” he lies, and he keeps his eyes locked on Benji as they start to descend again.

“Okay, good. You know, I think about us as a Ferris wheel sometimes.”

Victor chuckles. “Yeah, because Simon and Bram are our gay parents so it’s basically in our genes or whatever.”

“No, no,” Benji says, his voice sentimental as he turns so he can face Victor better. “It’s like this. We’re at the bottom now again, right?” Sure enough they are, though the ride doesn’t stop and they begin a second ascent. “And that’s no fun, because it’s basically just like being on the ground, so it makes you wonder what the point is. And then you start to climb, and when you hit the top you look around and think to yourself…wow. Just wow. This is what I’ve been missing. This is a view I want forever. But of course you have to come back down again eventually.” He pauses and licks his lips. “We’ve already had a lot of ups and downs. And they’ve been _high_ ups, and really _low_ downs. They balance each other out, right? You can never quite appreciate how good the good things are until you’ve been through the bad. I don’t know, maybe it’s cheesy and cliche, but something about it just resonates with me.”

They hit the top again and their motion stops. Victor yelps as their compartment sways. “Oh god, do you think something went wrong?”

Benji chuckles, though he seems frustrated. “No, Victor, I think that nice man is trying to give us some privacy.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. So, in this metaphor…I mean, what if something goes wrong? Like, for example, what if we get stuck somewhere in the middle? And what if the ride breaks down altogether?”

“I have a backup generator.”

Victor smiles. “Is that what you’re calling your butt now?”

Benji looks at Victor with mock offense. “Victor, I’m trying to have a moment here with you!”

“I know!” Victor says, and then with sudden sobriety, “I know. And for some reason, that’s really scary.”

There’s a pause. “What are you scared of? Me?”

“I’m scared that I’m going to wake up,” Victor admits, and to his own shock he finds he would rather look all the way down at the carnival as it slowly shuts down than look at Benji. “I’m so terrified that somewhere along the way I fell asleep and stumbled into this crazy dream with all of these twists and turns, and even though there were times it was more like a nightmare, look where we are now. I’m scared of what’s going to happen tomorrow, or a week from now. A year. I’m…I’m scared of how much I love you.”

Benji takes in a sharp breath. Even in the tiny compartment, he manages to shift closer to Victor. “Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs, tilting Victor’s chin upward. “I know exactly what you mean,” he says, hazel eyes carving out a place in each of Victor’s bones. “I feel exactly the same way. I love you, Victor Salazar. I love your smile and your heart and the care you have for other people, the way it’s so against your nature to be selfish. And I love all of the parts that you might not see as good, too. I don’t have enough time to list everything—and believe me, I would if I could—but you have to believe me when I say this. There is not a single thing about you I don’t love.”

“Benji,” Victor says, and because there aren’t any words he can say that would be a worthy response to this, he just leans in and cups Benji’s face, guides their lips together, their bodies rocking high above the ground. He imagines himself saying _I love you_ over and over again as they kiss, and this feels like a gift, something celestially bestowed, something shining and wild and theirs, all theirs, nobody else’s.

Finally, they pull apart, both of them breathing heavily. “Benji,” he whispers again.

“Do you remember in the beginning of the summer when you asked me if you would ever be able to kiss me and not feel like a new person after?”

He nods, self-conscious.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so new as I do in this moment.”

Benji pulls away suddenly and reaches for his phone. “Smile,” he says as he takes a picture, the flash blinding Victor for a moment.

He blinks away spots and leans in. “Can I see?”

“Mmm, no,” Benji says with a smirk. “That’s just for me. _This_ is for you,” he says, then leans in and kisses Victor again.

“So. You love me,” Benji says, his voice giddy.

Victor giggles and nods. “And you love me.”

“Like I’ve never loved anything before.”

Victor rests his forehead against Benji’s, their breath mingling in the cool summer air. And even though their future is uncertain, Victor can feel Benji’s pulse in the plush tips of his fingers, can feel the warmth of his existing against his face, and for now that’s enough for him.

It’s everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! I'm very pleased with how this chapter turns out and I hope y'all feel the same. As always, your kudos and comments and bookmarks and all of the lovely things mean so so much to me and I'll be very appreciative for that to continue!!
> 
> One other thing. I'm actually going to be doing a bit of an overhaul of this fic before the final chapter is posted (with the help of a lovely beta reader), and because I'm also focused especially on revising an original novel, it could be some time before that happens. Realistically, I think the final chapter of this fic will be up some time in February. Apologies for that wait, but I figure it might not hurt as much if you know in advance!! Thank you so much for following along and I am SO excited to finally finish things out and wrap this baby up!!! :,)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are a huge motivator for writers, so if you have a favorite line, favorite scene, or just want to scream into the void, leave a comment below and we can freak out over it together; this void screams back! :)
> 
> Come follow me on [Tumblr](https://that0negayslytherin.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/0negayslytherin) :D And ALSO if you're interested in joining a Discord server for Love Victor fanfic writers/readers, [check it out](https://discord.gg/KK4yn4BCE8)!!
> 
> [Here is a fun little moodboard](https://that0negayslytherin.tumblr.com/post/624111936980893696/a-moodboard-i-put-together-for-my-in-progress) I created for this fic, because I am super visual and love that shit. It is SLIGHTLY spoilery but what it does give away is really quite vague and won't ruin your reading experience whatsoever!
> 
> [This link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7L3kO1sYMOOgGEmS4JphMw?si=SOB9NvqdSV2rfNUhO3btnw) will take you to the GTFA playlist on Spotify, but if you don't have Spotify I've also put together a graphic with all of the songs so you can check them out for yourself!
> 
> ALSO, I'm doing a social media AU that takes place approximately AFTER the events of this fic (but won't have any spoilers until the fic is done I think), so if you're interested in seeing some fun Twitter/Groupchat drama, [click here](https://that0negayslytherin.tumblr.com/post/624459828471988224/creekwood-mac-a-love-victor-smau-1-the-pb) to go to the first installment! :D


End file.
